


All it needs is a little careful prompting

by Talimee



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6440122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talimee/pseuds/Talimee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emil needs to go through painful treatment without something to ease his pain, Lalli knows only one way to distract him.</p><p>Under this header you will find fiction written for the Forum's 100 prompts challenge. Characters, Tags, Ratings, etc. will change with time.<br/>EDIT 1: I decided to update Tags, Warnings and People to always fit the latest installment.<br/>EDIT 2: Still going with the Tags/Warnings-updates, so Chapters which have a Mature or Explicit Rating will be named here. Chapters 5, 9, 10 and 16.<br/>EDIT 3: Some Chapters are in german now. Here is their list: Chapter 15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 100 - End

Prompt: 100 - **End**   
Characters: OCs   
Setting: Y4   
Summary: A small band of refugees left their home to travel north in hope of a safe haven.   
Warnings: Character Death, Insight

 

This close to midsummer the sun was still quite high in the sky as Denise settled herself on a low-hanging branch and began her nightly vigil. Above her she could hear her husband's whisper as he told the children their bed-time story. She was amazed at his ingenuity and creativity. They had been travelling for several weeks now and still he managed to whip up a new story for the kids every night. Denise knew that she herself would have stopped that after the first six days, because that was her whole repertoire of children's bedtime stories. But most likely she would never have started the habit. She had never wanted children and now they had two to look after.

She cast a quick glance up above to where the children's hammocks were suspended between several sturdy branches. It was not the safest of beds she knew from hurtful experience but at least it was outside the reach of most monsters. She did a double-take and looked back over the surrounding terrain which included, but was not limited to, a small wood on two sides and behind them and the small meadow where their tree stood. Far enough from other trees that creepers couldn't just jump over – another lesson which had cost them dearly. Below them but a few metres away she could dimly see the last smoky remains of their dying camp fire and further off where the glittering waters of the Szczecin Lagoon.

'Monsters …', she repeated exasperated in her head. Even thinking this word made her feel as if she was daydreaming herself into a dumb horror film. But then again, the whole world had turned into a horror film four years ago.

Her attention was drawn to loud giggling above her.

“He spilled his food all over himself?! Eww!”

“No, someone else did that while he slept – but the others were _thinking_ that he did. Imagine how embarrassing that was!” Denise made eye-contact with her husband and motioned down with her hand. He flashed her an apologetic smile. “I think we have to stop being loud unless we want Denise to get angry. So, psst”, he whispered to the kids who seemed to view this as part of the game, since they continued to giggle but tried to stifle it with their hands across their mouths.

Denise gritted her teeth and swept her gaze across their surroundings again, every little noise reverberating like gun-shots in her ears as she imagined how far sounds could travel until they reached the ears of some zombified deer or beaver or hog. She looked down on the crossbow in her lap and checked again that it was ready.

If she should summarize the last years in one term (a task she had always loathed in job interviews) she would probably use _madness_ or _ridiculous_ or _horrifying_. But most likely _dumb luck_. It had been dumb luck that made them both quit their jobs in Berlin and open a small pension in north-eastern Brandenburg, one of the most sparsely populated areas in Germany. It had been dumb luck that they had guests at their pension who dabbled in car mechanics and herbal medicine and gardening. It had been dumb luck that they had invested a small fortune in solar power for the house, so that they still had electricity when everywhere else the power failed. It had been dumb luck that their neighbour had been a forester before retirement and an amateur radio operator who showed them the basics before he died because his medicines ran out and they couldn't find replenishments in their raids. But as strongly as Denise tried to convince herself otherwise, something inside her told her that their luck was running out.

She heard movement from above and looked up to see her husband climbing carefully down to her. He settled himself next to her and she leaned in for a small kiss on the cheek.

“They are asleep or nearly so”, he said under his breath.

She nodded.

“And tomorrow?”

“As usual”, she said and meant: One canoe and one kid each, stay at least fifty metres apart, if something happens pray to God, do not move and leave the others to die. She added: “We head north, go between Usedom and Wolin, then along Usedom's north coast, then north-west to Rügen.”

“That's a lot of open water to cross”, he said with a troubled face.

She nodded. “But we'll avoid population centres.”

He nodded and that was that taken care of. Denise felt uneasy about how their relationship had changed during the last years. She had always been kind of a drifter; long-time student and mediocre. Jan, on the other hand, had been coding since boyhood and landed a top-job in an IT-firm. That had changed, however, after their marriage, when he realized that he wanted more out of life. She might have had a hand in that, she admitted, and her liberal arts mindset. But even then he had been the driving force in their day-to-day-life, the manager of things. Until four years ago the old world ended and she became the one who knew what to do and where to go. The strange hunches and dreams she started having around that time might have helped, although she often didn't know how to interpret them.

Even now she was uncertain if it hadn't been a fatal error to leave their house. But their numbers had been steadily declining and lately she had felt an uneasiness come over her which grew and nearly became a presence in her mind whenever she turned her gaze to the horizon. Where the next village was located, with its industrial sized pig farms.

And then, out of the blue, the radio had come to life. Denise still couldn't quite believe it: Survivors! Just hearing another human voice again after all these months had hit her like a drug and even better were the news this voice brought: A stable community at Rügen's north coast with radio contact to Bornholm! There was even talk of relocating to the small Danish island.

They had hesitated a few days but did they really have an alternative? So they had scrounged and packed what they could find and left their home for good. Ten people in five canoes, of which only the four of them remained.

Whispering above made her look up. She sighed and exchanged a look with Jan which said 'It's your turn this time.' and climbed carefully up the tree.

“Lea, Emre”, she hissed. “The sun has set and you know what that means.”

Both nodded but couldn't keep their silence for long. “Jan told us about Emil, the nice Viking again and about Lalli, the Sorcerer and how they went to a dead city and rescued –”

“Yes, yes, I'm sure it was an excellent story. Now be quiet.”

“But aren't you excited to go to Bornholm? Where Mikkel –“

“I will be excited when we _arrive_ in Bornholm. Now. _Please be silent!_ ” Her breath hitched in her throat at the last words, dread lunged at her heart. She spun around, saw a snarling fuzzy face fly towards her, jerked her crossbow upwards, took one step back … and fell.

'Oh', she tho –

 


	2. 1 - Introduction

Prompt: 1 - **Introduction**

Characters: Reynir Árnason, Árni Ragnarsson, Bryndís Jónsdóttir

Setting: Y70

Summary: An unplanned pregnancy is a source of joy and fear simultaneously.

Tags: pregnancy, parenthood, (slight) angst

Warnings: none

 

~*~

 

When Árni Ragnarsson collected his wife from the village nurse's office he could tell by her horrified expression that something was wrong. He ran up the stairs and collected her in his arms.

“What is it?” he asked breathlessly.

“I'm pregnant”, she whispered and her knees went weak.

 

Later, in their kitchen, they sat at the table, hand in hand, mugs of tea cooling in front of them.

“How?” he asked. “I thought you were in menopause?”

“I am!” she wrung his hands. “Apparently, loosing fertility is a gradual process and women can still get pregnant with any luck.”

Árni tried not to snort at that word. “What are we going to do?” he asked instead. “Are we keeping it?”

Sigríður's eyes narrowed. “Of course!” she snapped. But her fingers shook in his hands.

 

People started to notice after a while and people started to talk. But it was a testament to their village community that they did it to Árni's and Sigríður's faces and not behind their backs.

Yes, they knew that getting a child this late would be a health risk to mother and unborn.

Yes, they knew that it would not be immune.

Yes.

“I have given birth four times”, Sigríður kept saying when Árni was getting overwhelmed with anxiety. “I'll do it a fifth time and we will have a healthy boy or girl.”

'Healthy, apart from …', loomed in both their minds.

 

When Sigríður went into labour the birth went along without a hitch and a few hours later the nurse put a healthy boy into his mother's arms. Árni felt as if he had held his breath for an eternity. Fingers, toes – ten each – red fuzz on the head, eyes screwed shut and a snub nose. He exhaled with a smile.

He heard his other children enter the room and carefully scooped the newest Árnason up in his arms and turned so that his older children could see their new sibling.

“Let me introduce your new baby brother”, his wife said with an exhausted smile. “Reynir.”

As their children were ooh-ing and aah-ing about the baby Árni untangled one hand and held his forefinger to Reynir's hand who gripped the digit with surprising strength.

And Árni Ragnarsson felt fear enter his heart.

 

 


	3. 81 - Pen & Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group of misfits gets together for a great adventure.

Prompt: 81 – **Pen and Paper**

Characters: Mikkel Madsen, Tuuri Hotakainen, Lalli Hotakainen, Sigrun Eide, Emil Västerström

Setting: AU, Sword-and-Sorcery, Fantasy

Summary: A group of misfits gets together for a great adventure.

Tags: Fantasy, AU, everyone has a D&D-Class, it's cheesy, I regret nothing

Warnings: adult language, first chapter of a series

 

~*~

 

Although not even the fifth hour of the day had passed the air already shimmered in Aylam's baked streets and on rooftops. The lull of midday was setting in and more and more people shunned the broad streets but kept instead to shady back alleys to conduct their businesses. Those who had already concluded their daily affairs, or who could afford it, retired to one of the countless taverns and caravanserai to meet up with friends and neighbours for a chat and a nap. The sun would eventually set her path towards the afternoon and life would return to Aylam's streets and places when walking outside was bearable once again. In the meantime, wind chimes filled the air with tinkling and diffused all worldly sounds which managed to reach the costumers' ears.

But because tranquillity is universally abhorrent to all Gods an angry shout erupted from one back room of a large caravanserai immediately before the figure of a young man erupted from there as well.

“GET BACK HERE! THIEF!! STOP!!!”

The young man did not seem inclined to heed those words but accelerated instead. He jumped over several resting men with an effortlessness as if the air itself was lifting him up. But then again, he was very slim in built, barefooted and clad in a sleeveless tunic. His left arm was flung wide to counterbalance his jumps and pirouettes while his right arm was clamped around a roasted goose. A sudden explosion of shards before him made him swerve sideways and careen into a plump servant girl who was just about to pour some wine for guests. As she shrieked and spilled the blood red liquid all over a silk-clad merchant, the boy righted himself as if he was flying and continued his dash. Two more leaps and he was through the archway and out in the streets. One more dash found him completely gone from the scene.

Meanwhile the girl was close to tears and frantically patted the enraged customer dry with her apron. But silk was silk and red wine red wine so the garment was ruined. No sooner had she realized that, the caravanserai's owner came over and yelled at her before shooing her out of the way. Bursting into tears for real this time and holding her apron to her face she turned on her heels and ran away.

In the far corner of the atrium a man picked up his glass of peppermint tea and finished it with a smug smile before he got up and lazily walked after her.

The streets were even emptier than before. Not even slaves could be seen but the man just looked up and down the dust-encrusted high street before he started to walk south. For a man of his girth he was quite unobtrusive. People found themselves unconsciously stepping out of his way but when they passed him, no sound, not even a movement of air made it known that he was there. It was as if he had learned to shut himself completely away from the world around him. Therefore neither the girl nor the thief noticed him when he stepped out into a small courtyard and positioned himself next to the only street that led away from it. A careful glance around revealed only the messy backsides of buildings, some shored up windows and even the charred remains of a burned down house. A fountain in the middle of the square had run dry quite some time ago if the dusty weeds that grew in it were any indication.

“Boy, will we eat tonight!”, the girl cheered and hugged the boy sitting next to her. Upon closer inspection both of them seemed rather be young adults than adolescents. Both were smaller than average – a fact that surely helped them in appearing more harmless than they really were.

“If I was going to steal some food anyway, I might as well go for the best they had”, said the man with a satisfied echo to his words. He wrenched a drum from the carcass and bit into it with vigour.

“Leave the other one for me, please”, the young woman said and started to unwrap the folds of her apron which she had set on the ground next to her. “Let's see first what I was able to scrounge.”

The last folds of the grubby cloth came away and revealed a large leather purse. The woman couldn't contain a delighted squeal when she opened the purse and several fat pieces of gold and two small rubies surfaced. The young man perked up at the red glint and carefully lifted one of the stones into the sunlight.

“Beautiful”, he said quietly.

“Those will definitely fetch a good price”, added his companion.

Their silent watcher felt that this was the best time to make himself known. He stepped into the courtyard.

“I thought you had more brains than to come straight back here after pulling a heist like this. I _know_ you were trained better.”

Man and woman flinched at the sound of another voice and spun around but as soon as they saw who was talking to them their demeanour changed from surprise to annoyance. At least in the young woman who zipped the purse close again and stood up, hands on her ample hips.

“Why shouldn't we? Everyone around here knows who we are and were we live. We pay our guild rates and are, in turn, left to our own devices”, she answered with a sneer. “Other than over-confident slave merchants who think they can do a bit of smuggling on the side without letting the guild know.” Her voice had taken on a smug purr and she was positively smirking when she gestured with her thumb over her shoulder towards the ruin behind her.

“Still, you are taking a risk”, he insisted. “If someone had _followed_ you”, he emphasized the word, “and brought the guards with them, you'd be in trouble.”

Her eyes narrowed with the last words. “You know full well that the guards are in the Guildmaster's pocket and no outsider knows the way to this place. So let's just cut the niceties because my dinner is probably getting eaten while I have to listen to your yapping. What do you want, Mikkel?”

“We're not working for you again”, added the young man through a mouthful of bird.

Mikkel hesitated for a moment, indicating that the other man had somehow pinpointed the exact reason he had approached them. Then his complacent manner returned.

“At first, I want you to come away from here. I might have told that merchant and his henchmen where to find you …”

“You wouldn't”, hissed the woman.

“He would”, said her companion. He cocked his head. “He did.”

“You bastard!”, she spat. She snatched up their scattered belongings while the young man gathered what was left of the goose and bundled it together. With a hasty last look around they both scuttled over to one of the boarded up windows and pulled at the boards, which swung aside and revealed the entrance to a small room and a disused corridor beyond. The woman was the first to climb through, aided by her companion who then effortlessly followed her. Before the boards could swing shut after them, they were held open by Mikkel.

“Lalli!”, he called after the young man who hesitated and then turned around to face him. “I have a job opportunity for you. Tell Tuuri, once she's calmed down, to meet me and my associates two hours after dark in the room behind Olsen's stable.”

Lalli stared at Mikkel for a moment and then gave a small nod to indicate that he had heard the man but had not made his mind up about the meeting, yet. Then he followed Tuuri.

Mikkel let the boards carefully swing shut and pressed them further into the soft mortar around the window. Then he hurried across the small courtyard to the burnt ruins of his former house, searched for a moment in the rubble before he found a small stone stair which he stepped down. Once at the foot he pressed a slightly discoloured stone in the wall and heard with a satisfied smile the tinkle of brick sliding upon brick. He waited until the wall had slid open far enough for him to squeeze through, then he did that and vanished temporarily from the world. Another small tinkle sounded as the wall slid shut again and then the sand-bathing sparrows near the fountain were all that could be heard.

 

~*~

 

“They are late”, a petulant voice said. “If they're not turning up in a minute, I'm going to hit someone over the head for fun.”

“You have a strange idea of fun, Sigrun”, answered a wary voice which could be identified as belonging to Mikkel. “And they are not late. You are just bored.”

“Yeah, that's why I'm going to hit someone over the head soon.”

“Dear Gods!”

The evening had eventually turned up and kept its promise of milder temperatures and a soothing wind. The stifling heat of the day was only a memory now and people were out and about in the streets again. Mikkel and Sigrun had met in the small room behind Olsen's stable which was actually a small courtyard which was bordered by a pergola overgrown with wild wine. Only a few other people were seated here and all of them were crooks.

From the forefront of the tavern Olsen could be heard yelling his head off about some overcooked stew. Mikkel snorted under his breath. He had medium to low respect for the second-in-command local crime lord and honestly doubted that the man could differentiate between a stew and a shit. Nevertheless, it paid off to be on reasonably good terms with Olsen, because his stables were a meeting point for people in all sorts of professions who needed a bit of privacy.

If anyone asked, just say you're waiting for your donkey to be shod and tap your nose …

“That's it! The half-pint over there gets a new haircut!” Sigrun jumped up from the cushion she had been sitting on and reached for her mace.

“What? No, wait!” Only by lunging across her weapon Mikkel could stop the red-haired barbarian from starting a fight.

“If he thinks he can wink at me with impunity, he'll have another thing coming”, she swore but sat down when she couldn't dislodge Mikkel from her weapon. The man she had been addressing, however, had paled and even now made a hasty retreat towards the dark alley which was the designated tavern privy.

“What's to eat?”, came a disinterested question from behind. Sigrun spun around, nearly dislodging her shoulder because she kept her grip on her mace which was still pinned down by Mikkel.

“Who are you!”, she demanded. “And how did you get here!”

Lalli paused in the act of reaching for the wine jug and looked at her.

“I walked”, he said eventually. “And then I sat down.” He picked up a clay goblet and poured himself a generous amount of wine. “You were too noisy to hear.”

Sigrun finally loosened her grip on her mace and squared her shoulders. “Don't give me any lip, boy, if you know what's good for you.”

Lalli sat back and casually covered his goblet with his hand as a sudden gust of wind tore through the plaza, upsetting several large platters with food and drink and hurling one wooden plate at Sigrun's head. She did not even flinch. Lalli stared wide-eyed at her for a second before he pretended to cough and drank a hasty sip from his wine. His eyes found Mikkel, who was slightly smirking at how this little power-display had turned out.

“Sigrun, this is Lalli – one of the last slaves I ever owned –“

“You don't have to say this every time, y'know”, Lalli said disgruntled.

“– and he and his cousin Tuuri are going to be our partners in this.”

“As meat shields?”

“I'm a shaman”, Lalli said proudly. “And Tuuri is … good at acquiring things.”

Sigrun gave him a measured look, taking in his wire frame, stick thin arms and legs and the very small knife he wore at his tunic belt.

“That's as well as it may be, twig, but can you handle yourself in battle? When I fight I smash doors, walls and skulls and I don't wait for weaklings.”

As Lalli was bristling with hurt pride and Mikkel was raising his hands in a placatory way the sounds of a commotion spilled out into the courtyard, followed by the sounds of crashing china. They turned their heads in time to see a ruffian stumble through the bead curtains that separated the actual tavern from the courtyard beyond. The man had barely time to regain his footing as another man lunged through the curtains and packed him at the scruff of his neck.

“Scoundrel!”, yelled the second man, who was young and exquisitely clothed with a magnificent sword at his side. “How dare you behave in such a way towards a woman! Out of my sight before I forget myself and teach you some manners!” He pushed the ruffian away who seemed to consider fighting but scrambled for the back alleys as the warrior moved to draw his sword. The bead curtains flew a third time and a young woman with ash-blonde hair ran towards the warrior who actually blushed when she grabbed his hand in hers and shook it.

“Thank you, kind Sir!”, she exclaimed with a trembling voice. “Thank you a thousand times! Oh, the horrid things that man said to me! I would not have known what to do if you hadn't stepped up for me!”

While the young warrior tried to combat his embarrassment long enough to gingerly pat the woman's hands, Mikkel looked dismayed at this display.

“This is our client”, he said matter-of-factly.

“And Tuuri is robbing him”, added Lalli with a dead-pan voice.

 


	4. 46 - Family

Prompt: 46 – **Family**

Characters: Mikkel Madsen, Tuuri Hotakainen, Lalli Hotakainen, Sigrun Eide, Emil Västerström

Setting: AU, Sword-and-Sorcery, Fantasy

Summary: Sigrun enters a library, Emil does research and the Hotakainens have a family reunion.

Tags: Fantasy, AU, everyone has a D&D-Class, it's cheesy, spot the cameos

Warnings: adult language and imagery, second chapter of a series

 

~*~

 

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, as one horrified, one indifferent and one very amused gaze witnessed as Tuuri slipped a ring from their client’s finger as she let his hand go. Or better, they did not witness it, but the surreptitious movement of Tuuri’s hand to her waistband and the confused expression on the young man’s face bespoke of something odd going on. He looked down at his hand and was about to protest, as Mikkel jumped up with an agility nobody had hitherto suspected and put his arms both around Tuuri and the client.

“Welcome, Emil, welcome!”, he oiled to the confused man. “May I do the introductions? This is Tuuri, our go-to-girl for anything that needs finding even if it wasn't lost before. And this is our client, Emil.” Mikkel gave Tuuri a meaningful look. For a moment she seemed to ponder the possibilities of how she could make this situation more awkward for Mikkel, but she was too curious about this client to leave this place just now. So she handed the ring back with a roguish grin.

“Hello again”, she said sweetly.

“H... hello”, came the hesitant reply.

The three of them went to their table and sat down, while Mikkel continued the introductions and ordered some plates of dried fruit and bread. Emil seemed a nice enough young man, even though he had the demeanor and looks of a pampered lordling. Sigrun was enthusiastic about his weapon and asked again and again to take some swings with it while Lalli …

“I can hear the wind whistle between his ears”, he said to Tuuri just under his breath.

She closed her eyes for a second, then glanced at Emil. But he was too engrossed in a weapon-swap with Sigrun to have heard.

“You are deliberately impolite”, she answered her cousin in their native tongue and added for all to hear: “What kind of mission do you have for us?”

Emil looked up with a determined expression. “I need help in finding my family and killing those who kidnapped them”, he said.

“Great! Let's talk prices”, Sigrun exclaimed but Tuuri was taken aback.

“I'm a thief”, she said. “I don't think I'll be much help on a battlefield.”

“Don't worry!”, Sigrun chipped in. “If there's some fighting to be done, I'll do it.”

“The kidnappers haven't left any demands. They just ransacked the place and took them with them. So we need to find their hiding-place first. You are good at finding things, Mikkel said.” Emil was sounding fretful now.

“I'll need more information”, she said. “Where did your family life, how long ago did it happen, why don't you wait for a ransom demand?”

Emil told them during the next minutes everything they needed to hear – and several things that they didn't. He was an only child and an orphan; his family, as it happened, consisted of his aunt and uncle and their three children. A few months ago the family had split up after the death of his aunt; his uncle had taken his children to life in their mother's hometown, while Emil had started work as a hired blade for the salt merchants' caravans.

“And I don't think that I'll get a ransom demand …” He left the sentence hanging in the air but turned and grabbed for a bag he had had with him when he came. He opened it and upended it's contents on the table. It was the horribly disfigured head of a man. 

“Not on the food!”, Sigrun bellowed and yanked the head off the plates by it's musty green-gray hair. Then she remembered that Mikkel had only ordered fruit and bread and dropped it back. “Meh.”

Lalli had jumped up and stared wide-eyed at the monstrosity on the table. “D... did you do that?”, he asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

“What? No! I came home and found everyone gone and some monsters decaying in the village square. I brought this because I want someone to have a look at it. In a temple, maybe …” Emil's voice trailed off as Lalli cautiously reached out with one hand as if to touch the head.

“You better be careful”, Sigrun warned him but Lalli did not need her words. He stopped, turned on his heels and marched away into the dark. Tuuri got to her feet and looked after him, but her attention was sucked back to the table, when she heard a raspy wheeze and some colourful curses.

“It's never done that before!”, Emil shrieked. On the table, spattered with gore and breadcrumbs the head had turned to stare after Lalli and without lungs, without vocal cords it screamed and screamed …

Tuuri felt black walls close in on her from all sides, felt her knees grow too weak to support her and sagged sideways.

She came back to herself only seconds after, it seemed, but just about early enough to prevent Sigrun spilling wine down her throat. She waved the barbarian woman away and pushed herself up. Emil was frantically stuffing the head back into his sack, whereas Mikkel fixed her with an inquisitive stare.

“What was that”, he asked, not unkindly.

Tuuri felt in no way inclined to tell him, or anyone else for that matter. She prided herself with being able to navigate tricky situations and fainting like that; it was humiliating. The wine cup in Sigrun's hand looked very inviting now. She pulled it from the barbarian's hand and took a gulp.

“It was nothing”, she said when it became obvious that no one would let the topic go, as she hoped they would. “It reminded me of something unpleasant in the past and it startled me. That's all.” She laid as much determination into that last sentence as she could muster and, to her relief, the others accepted the explanation.

“I better look for Lalli.” She stood up and focused on Emil. “We'll come with you. Where do we meet tomorrow?”

“Uhm, here?”, Emil suggested. “Third hour?”

“Are you certain that Lalli is willing to come with us?”, Mikkel asked.

“Yes”, said Tuuri and went.

 

~*~

 

Even in cities where humans shift their activities to the hours of darkness there are places where the nightlife dims down enough for people to enjoy a good night's rest. If there were such places in Aylam _this_ plaza and its temple would not be it. It was noisy and crowded, lit torches illuminated the faces of late-night wanderers and vendors alike; laughter, incense and music wove together into a blanket which engulfed Emil and Sigrun and led them to the wide open bronze doors of the temple.

It was only marginally less crowded inside. Over the heads of the crowd they could see alabaster statues and pillars through a haze of incense, gold-leaf decorations and silk banners and large planters with flowers where ever space permitted it. Over all this, however, stood a ten-feet-statue of a Goddess. She was naked from the from the waist up and Her hands were supporting heavy breasts. Her hair and skirt were jewelry-bedecked and Her gaze struck the onlooker as that of a bountiful but strict mother.

Emil felt as if under a judging stare and looked down, noticing for the first time the many priests and priestesses in the crowd. He blushed. Their attire, if not as precious as that of their Goddess, was nevertheless faithful to that of Her effigy.

“I don't think this is the right place for us”, he hissed urgently to Sigrun.

“Of course it is!” The red-haired barbarian exclaimed. “She's a Goddess, that thing in your sack is god-awfulness personified – so we're right here.” She sighted a priest standing nearby and made a beeline towards him, dragging Emil with her who did not know where to look.

“You”, she demanded and the young man turned around to them. “We need a priest.”

The young priest looked from one of them to the other, from the blushing swordsman to the forceful barbarian and jumped to the wrong conclusions.

“I can help you if you want the Goddess' blessing on your coupling –“ He was interrupted by Sigrun's guffaw.

“Do I look like a cradle-robber to you?” She laughed so loud that several people's heads turned and Emil turned even redder.

“We need someone who knows about undead magic”, Emil croaked through a very dry throat.

“Oh. Uhm. Yes! We do have someone like that”, the priest trilled, if a bit flustered, and turned towards the inner part of the temple. “Follow me.”

“I think the thing is screaming again”, whispered Emil as they wove their way through the worshipers. He held the squirming sack high enough for Sigrun to see.

“Urgh!”

 

As the young priest led Sigrun and Emil through the crowd, touching worshipers here or saying a word there Tuuri turned into an alley at the other side of town. Her footsteps were barely audible. There were no lights here at all so she relied on feeling and memories to guide her along.

“Hello, hello, hello!”, sounded a sleazy but not unfriendly voice from the darker patch of an entrance as Tuuri passed it. “A little late for an evening stroll, little lady.”

“Stop being a creep, Lasse, it's not becoming”, Tuuri answered in a bored tone of voice. “Has my cousin come by this evening?”

“He has”, the invisible Lasse answered. “He paid the Master's tithe and went to see our little ray of sunshine.”

Tuuri winced inaudible and continued along the alley until she rather felt than saw a large plaza in front of her. People moved through the darkness on muffled soles, lanterns and watch fires were lit but their light could not penetrate the unnatural murk that seemed to seep all brightness away. She did not waste her time looking around for Lalli; she knew where she would find him.

 

The temple's vaults were less crowded than upstairs but still quite a few priests and priestesses could be seen here. Although, Emil noticed with relief, their garments seemed to include short jackets when they were not in public service. Granted, Sigrun's leather-and-chainmail-top did not leave much to the imagination but the young swordsman was not sure he would be able to keep his concentration up, if a bare-chested priestess was going to tell him anything for any length of time.

“Here it is.” The priest gestured towards his right and opened a door. “Mother Registrar, I have some adventurer here, who need advice on some foul magic they encountered.”

As little as Emil could see from the room behind the door he still got a sense of bone-dry bookishness and spider webs.

A querulous voice asked: “Have they paid the fee?”

Emil remembered just in time his father's words about knowledge not being common property and rushed forward to the priest's aid. “Of course, we have”, he called through the door to the library's occupant and pressed a handful of silver pieces into the young man's hand. He hoped it would be enough.

“Come in”, the voice called.

 

Tuuri found her cousin at exactly the place she had expected him to be: outside a small wooden cabin a bit off the plaza's beaten tracks. He sat on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and his forehead resting on them. She sat down next to him and reached out to pull him into a hug but he leaned out of the way.

“I'm not crying”, came his sullen voice from the space between his knees and chest.

Tuuri sat back. “How is Onni?”, she asked.

“Asleep.”

She leaned up and squinted trough a crack in the window shutters above her. The room behind them was small and brightly lit. Candles and lanterns stood on all available surfaces and mirrors were positioned around them to reflect their light as much as possible. There was not a tiny smidgen of shadow in that hut. Tuuri turned her head and looked to the left of the room. Her brother was lying curled up on a small cot, apparently fast asleep but twitching fretfully in the wake of his dreams.

 

“Oh dear!” That was all the old priestess said when they upended the sack onto her desk. “This is a ghoul”, she stated. “Or what remains of it. The demon is still trapped inside. It cannot leave the corpse until it has fulfilled its master's command.”

Emil blanched. “So this really was directed at my family?” And at himself! He did seem to have trouble breathing again. “Why would anyone do that?! They are _children_!”

The old priestess looked him steady in the eye, impatience radiating from her, so Emil tried to calm himself.

“You have two ways of dealing with this”, she said dryly. “You can try to hide or you can try to fight.”

“How?”, Sigrun asked.

“Destroying the corpse by any means possible. But if someone really has it out for you, you better kill off that warlock before they conjure up more demons.”

Sigrun let her knuckles crack next to him. “Excellent!”, she muttered.

“So. They can be destroyed”, Emil tried to reassure himself.

“Yes. You can start by getting this thing off my desk and burn it.”

“One more question”, Sigrun piped up a moment later when they were about to leave. “Why is it trying to scream?”

For the first time since they met her the priestess lost her aura of impatient anger. “It senses the presence of those who communed with demons.” Her impatience returned at their unbelieving stares. “I made a stupid mistake in my youth and I am paying for it. I haven't left this temple for forty years.”

 

“It was not his”, Tuuri said as she sat down again.

“Of course not.” Lalli sounded nearly as snobbish as always when he talked about things that were obvious in his opinion. But he was still curled in on himself, so Tuuri wasn't fooled.

“Of course not”, she repeated. “Why would he send creatures to harm people, who have nothing to do with us.”

“He could not anyway, the demon tells me”, Lalli said. “He didn't complete the pact. Not like Grandmother.” Lalli finally uncurled and looked at Tuuri with hollow eyes.

“You are _not_ like Grandmother”, Tuuri said with all conviction she could muster through the cold dread which clutched her heart. “She is dead and all her creatures went with her.”

This time, Lalli did not object to being hugged. He let himself fall into her embrace and buried his face against her shoulder.

“You are not like Grandmother. You are not like Onni”, Tuuri whispered steadily in his ear. “ _You will not become like her_.”

After a moment Lalli drew a deep breath and wriggled out of her embrace. “I won't”, he said with conviction born out of desperation. They got up and walked away to their home, leaving Onni behind in his prison of light.

 


	5. 4 - Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil becomes the focus of someone's darker desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic contains some ideas I snatched up from peoples' canons or stories flying around. I'm actually to tired right now to remember any. But naming people here would only shift the blame, anyway. So my blanket-thanks goes to the people of the SSSS-Mature-Content-Board and Mme.F.  
> Let me say, I am quite abashed at what I wrote here and I seriously considered not to post it. I hope for your leniency.  
> But we all knew it would come to this and I only regret it was going to be me.

Prompt: 4 - **Dark**

Summary: Emil becomes the focus of someone's darker desires.

Characters: Emil Västerström, unnamed Male Characters (UMC)

Pairings: UMC/Emil Västerström

Setting: Y89, Cleanser Training

Rating: 18+

Warnings: All Of Them! Meaning: explicit sex scenes, power abuse, drunken non-con (I probably should mention Grammar, too)

Tags: Power play, Authority kink, Submission

 

~*~

 

The first time I noticed you was of course your first day in Cleanser training. You were, after all, assigned to my room. Two rookies, two second-year recruits – that's how it's done in training. So that we can show you the ropes. Give advice and stuff. I was not looking forward to chaperone some fat kid with an attitude, especially an attitude that was as much conceit as anything else.

So what, your family had been rich? Yeah, now you had to earn your keep like everyone else.

So what, you have had the best private tutors? Yeah, seems they didn't manage to teach you some basic street smarts.

So what, becoming a Cleanser was your true destiny? Yeah, how about we'd just call you by your real name? _Failure_.

And sure, you were a horrible failure at first. I mean, a fat kid in military? One doesn't need to be a genius to figure out that military involves lots of sports. Your wheezing and coughing in stamina runs was nearly as loud as the jeers you got. And tactics was something clearly way over your head. Of course, not every soldier can be a captain but blindly firing your gun at moving bushes? Wasting fuel in large-scale fires when ordered to burn a forest-aisle? _Blowing buildings up with recruits still inside?_ Granted, that one may have been an ordinary attempt at murder, since by that time you were pretty much loathed by all of us. It nearly got you court marshalled, I remember, but you got off by pleading incompetence. Boy, that must have hurt your pride.

I can honestly say that I did not jeer along with the others. I know my own short-comings so I tend not to pick on others as long as their faults don't affect me. But I was never your friend.

 

The second time I noticed you was nearly a year into your training. Morning roll-call some day in late June. The officer was reading out some records which basically meant we were all nicking some sleep. No need for record-keeping, in my view – you either passed the training or you died. Since we were all standing here we obviously passed another week.

“Västerström”, the Sergeant called. “Finally shaping up, I see. Good! Report to the quartermaster at 18oo. You're reassigned to the officer's mess-hall.”

Of course, summer meant heightened troll-activities and that meant serious raids and _that_ meant regular troops stationed with us whose officers had their own mess-hall. Nothing like the goop they expected us to eat! Real food with red meat. Spirits, mead, even greenhouse wine instead of watery beer. And, of course, they needed to be waited on.

That day I looked at you in the showers.

When you live a camp life you soon learn that another's privacy exists even in communal showers. You might sneak a peek in the first few days, or maybe a bit longer, if there is someone you like to wank off to and need the image, but after a few weeks, a month tops, you know every ass and carbuncle and you just stop being interested.

As I said, that evening I _did_ take a look at you. And you had been shaping up indeed. Not all fat was gone, your face was still quite round and your abs not yet visible under a soft belly, but you had slim hips now, a defined chest nicely topped by broad shoulders and when you turned round to wash out your hair I saw two dimples in your lower back and a firm ass that I wanted to grab.

I paused at that thought but not for long. I am as human as the next person and I have needs. That waiter's uniform they gave you did nothing to curb my new-found interest in your body. As loathsome as I found your lordly behaviour I had to grant you, that you knew how to wear a waistcoat. With your hair slightly oiled back you really looked every part an heir. And I realized that I wanted that image of you humiliated.

That night in bed, when two sets of snores announced our room-mates' sleep I slid off my pants under my covers. One hand snaking down between my legs and the other to my nipples I imaged how your haughtiness would get shattered tonight.

There would be a General in the officer's tent. Full dress uniform and shiny boots. He would smell of smoke and experience. He would be soft spoken but with the promise of a whip in every syllable if his orders should be disobeyed.

He would wait until the other officers would have retired for the night before making his move, tripping you up or making you do a small mistake which would spill some food over his crotch. Cheesy, yes, but with rookies like you he would keep to the obvious. And his arousal _would_ be obvious once you started cleaning away the mess. He would grab your hand and press it down so you could feel the twitching rod underneath the cloth.

“Go on”, he'd say.

Your fingers would tremble as you undid his buttons and your tongue would slip over your dry lips as the huge cock came into view. You would hesitantly lift it free and wrap your hand around it. Begin stroking it as you've done so many times with yourself, leisurely at first, then picking up the pace. Soon you would both pant. His hands, heavy weights on your shoulders, would roam over your body before one slid up into your hair and steadily pressed you down. You would be confused, maybe revolted, when it became clear that he wanted you to suck him. But low in your stomach you would feel a dark pull, a twinge of pleasure because you'd love to be on your knees before him.

So you'd get down and renew your grab on his cock, stroke it firmly once or thrice before wrapping your lips around it. Sucking, licking, dipping, slicking up. His hand in your hair would caress your scalp as a reward for being such a good boy. His cock would grow even thicker, the head purpling and pulsing against your palate. His grip would tighten in your golden hair.

“Hold still”, he would order you through clenched teeth. “Open wide.”

Your eyes would flicker up to his stern gaze and you'd open up as far as you can. His hand became like steel, holding you in place while he'd buck forward, plunging himself deep and deeper down your throat. Five times, ten times. Pumping faster. Making you retch but not throw up because nothing right now is more arousing than to be his hole. He'd come with a drawn-out hiss deep in your throat, his cum filling you up. And you'd swallow. Your own cock would be so hard that a single touch would unhinge you.

He instead would clean himself up with a napkin and sit down in a chair. Trousers still open and his cock still visible.

“Pour yourself a drink”, he'd order you. “And then undress.”

He'd keep you with him for a few hours more. Doing things with your body that have you moaning with humiliation and wanton desire. At last you'd lie face down on the billiard table, being pounded from behind.

 

The thought of your nipples being chafed on the rough surface brought me over the edge and I bit my lip to stifle all sounds. The sleepers' snores continued and I exhaled, spent and yet still edgy. I turned around in my bed and went to sleep, only to be awoken a mere hour later when you returned to our room. You weren't particularly noisy but events in my past have left me a light sleeper.

You lighted the small bedside lamp next to your cot and I could see through half-hidden eyes that you were drunk. Not roaring drunk but certainly more than tipsy. It made your movements halting and unstable, as if you needed an extra second to reaffirm what your senses were telling you. One of the benefits of serving the mess-hall, I guess. But you were also dishevelled, your waist coat undone, your shirt only half buttoned. And when you had stripped down to your trunks and gone to bed I could also see that you were aroused.

There _had_ been rumours about the officer's mess-hall, mind you.

I heard you roll around in your bed in a fruitless search for sleep and finally I heard the soft hitch of breath I had come to know and which meant that you were stroking yourself. I waited a moment longer, until your breath became louder, before slipping out of my bed. Two steps had me next to your bed. Gray light seeped through the window and unto your bed. You really were beautiful. Your body in convulsions, eyes closed shut but mouth wide open for gasps of breath, one hand sliding along your chest and your stomach, the other forming the tube into which your hips were thrusting. A perfect image of self-absorption. Eros and Narcissus combined.

I lunged forward and pressed my mouth to yours, used your shock to slide my tongue into you and compliance made you turn your head to grant me better access. My tongue grazed your teeth, tasted the insides of your cheek. Made you mine. A muffled groan escaped you as my hand found your cock and started pumping it. No steady rhythm, no predictability, while I nipped and sucked the soft skin at your throat. I wanted you on edge. Your shaking hands left feathery touches all over my head. I picked up my pace, held you in a firmer grip and with a yelp I only muffled by chance you came violently into my hand. I kept kissing you as you moaned and whimpered your satisfaction and drew away at your half-hearted attempt at pushing me off. Your eyes were still hazy as you tried to recognize me through the cloud of alcohol and exhaustion. I don't think you managed it before you fainted.

Oh, well. I get up and wash my hands in the small sink next to the wardrobe. Then I make sure that you are still breathing, clean you up and tuck you in. I will take my payment later and I will make you mine.

Just know, Emil, I am not your friend.

 

 

 

 


	6. 48 - Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some slice-of-life scenes from the Main Crew's childhood

Prompt: 48 - **Childhood**

Characters: Sigrun Eide, Lalli Hotakainen, Tuuri Hotakainen, Mikkel Madsen, Reynir Árnason, Emil Västerström

Setting: not specified, all characters are children

Rating: none

Warnings: none

Tags: Childhood, character-insights

 

~*~

“There is just no reasoning with you, is there?” Her father was getting angry, Sigrun could tell, but instead of getting louder like her mother, he went silent. Sigrun didn't like it when he was like that. His eyes were like shards of ice and his smile was more like baring teeth. But her mother, with whom he was angry somehow, did not let herself be intimidated, which left Sigrun in awe. “You prefer it then, if she ventured off on her own?”, she asked pointedly.

“Of course not! I'm saying that she is too young!”, he hissed back.

Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but her head spun around and she looked upwards. “Out of the rafters, Sigrun! This instant!”

 _How does she manage it?_ , Sigrun thought sulkily as she climbed out from her hiding-spot under the long-house roof. She walked over to the door, dragging and shuffling her feet as much as she dared in hope that her parents would change their opinion and let her stay. There were arguing about her after all! But both of them watched her in angry silence until she clicked the door shut behind her.

“See?” Sigrun heard her mother's muffled voice through the keyhole. “She climbs into the rafters – how long do you think until she _climbs the fence_?”

For a moment Sigrun pondered opening the door and yelling that she was not stupid and knew that it was an electric fence and that if she planned to get out of Dalsnes she would burrow _under_ it. But she stopped herself in time by remembering that she was not supposed to listen at doors and that spilling someone's back-up plans might not be the best idea.

“Let us keep her in Dalsnes only one year longer.” Her father was trying to placate mother now. “We only have that one child.”

“Then it is high time she learned to take care of herself.” Her mothers voice was still stern. “I will take her with me tomorrow. And I will bring her back safe and sound.”

Sigrun was too preoccupied with stifling her cheer to notice the steps behind the door and nearly fell onto her mother when she opened the door from the inside.

“So you heard everything”, she said with drawn-down eyebrows. “Maybe I should leave you behind if you are not able to follow orders like a soldier.”

“No!”, Sigrun yelled. “Take me with you!”

“Will you do what I say and when I say?”

“I promise!”

“I will take you by your word like an adult, Sigrun Eide”, her mother said solemnly. “And now go and spend some time with your father. He is fretting again.”

As Sigrun ran inside again she could not contain her pride and joy at being allowed her first hunt and she felt very grown-up.

 

~*~

With dusk creeping up from the lake Lalli's whole world changed. The day-noises faded away until they were gone entirely and up came the soft susurration of night. He could hear the song of dragonflies near the shallows, hear the soft tickling laugh of salmon, hear the slow temperature-based heartbeat of the lake. Soon fireflies scribbled their messages in the air and finally all small spirits who shied away from noise and light came forward. It was as much a gradual development as a sudden change. One second the world would be normal, like it had been since Lalli could remember and one blink later everything was filled with silvery light and speaking to him in whispering voices. This sensation was still so new to him that he felt unnerved by it sometimes but Grandma and Onni had said that this eeriness would pass.

Footsteps announced the arrival of his cousin. “Here you are!”, she said. “Aren't you meeting with Grandma tonight?”

Lalli took one last look at the alder on whose lowest branch he was hanging upside down. The tree was aglow with light, mostly in its leaves but also in great, pulsing streams inside its trunk. He blinked and the sight was lost.

“She said I should wait for a sign from her”, he finally answered Tuuri. He blinked and the spirits were back again. Some very small lights circled around Tuuri's head – maybe gnats – and she waved them away impatiently. Lalli saw them sneak up on his cousin again and grinned. His merriment vanished however when his gaze travelled upwards to where Tuuri was standing. All around her feet the silvery light had gone. He blinked and blinked again.

'Don't ever close your eyes on the cycles of nature', had been his grandmother's first teaching. Something she actually taught all her family, not just the mages. So Lalli forced himself to look again at the little deaths at Tuuri's feet. He did not fool himself into thinking that he actually understood what death meant, but he was sad about the small patch of darkness in that sea of light. He guessed that was enough.

A sudden movement up in the tree made him flinch. He lost his balance, slipped from his branch and may have sustained a serious injury if he hadn't managed to land on Tuuri, who was admittedly only marginally softer than the ground but higher up. He half expected an attack but as nothing happened he cautiously looked up into the tree to see a magnificent eagle sit on the branch he himself had just vacated. It fixed him with a stern stare which nevertheless made Lalli think that somewhere someone was laughing at him. Ignoring Tuuri who was cursing him and holding her hand out as if expecting him to help her up he took a step forward.

“Grandma?”

The eagle just stared back, then suddenly flicked its head in the direction of the lake and vanished. Lalli turned around and jogged light footed through moss and reeds, not even leaving dark patches behind.

 

~*~

“What?! That is not a word!”, Onni exclaimed indignantly.

“Of course it is”, Tuuri shot back.

“It's not!”

“Is too!”

Their mother wandered over from the kitchen and cast a casual glance over their playing board.

“It is a word”, she said and reached over. Wooden and metal bracelets jingled as she quickly exchanged two letters with each other. “And now it is correctly spelled.”

“Aww, Mom!”, Tuuri complained. “You lost me ten points! And that v there would've brought another five points!”

Her mother lifted one eyebrow. “Cheating to win, Tuuri? That is not nice.”

“If Tuuri can't play fair, I'm going out”, Onni said and pushed his chair away from the table. “I'll be home later, mother.” His voice skipped on the last syllable and Tuuri could see his earlobes turn red as he vanished through the door.

“He's going to see Pilvi, y'know?”, Tuuri spilled as soon as the door was shut. “They meet behind the bakery and –”

Her mother's hand slapped down on the table. “How often have I forbidden you to use Lalli as your spy? He is not your toy!”

“But he wants to know, too!”, Tuuri complained, finding it very unfair to be blamed for something her cousin clearly wanted to do. “And Onni and Pilvi are kiss--”

“I know they are”, her mother interrupted her again. “They are teenagers – that's what they do.”

Tuuri started to feel really put out. Here was Onni, becoming a grown-up and a mage and boring and here was she, still the family's baby and not allowed to do anything interesting. Even Lalli was allowed outside after dark and _he_ was two years younger than her!

“I'm going out, too”, she said petulantly and slipped from her chair.

“Oh no, you don't”, her mother said sternly. “I am too angry with you.”

Against her will Tuuri felt a sting of guilty conscience. She did not want her mother to be angry at her! Regardless of how much Onni deserved to be pranked! She felt herself tear up and felt her herself getting angry at herself for tearing up and in a heartbeat she was at her mothers waist, hugging her over the gingham apron and trying to apologize through sobbing hiccups. Everything went better when her mother closed her in her arms and stroked her head.

“Are you sorry for spying on Onni and trying to cheat him?”, she asked.

Tuuri nodded.

“Promise, you won't take advantage of Lalli again and write an apology to Onni. After that you can run over to your father's smithy until bedtime.”

Tuuri used her best paper and her most colourful pencils for the apology but by the time she was across the village square she had nearly forgotten about her promise again.

 

~*~

Thunderheads had appeared on the western horizon. Right now only their cotton-wool tops were visible but Mikkel saw the flight of the swallows and knew it would rain later today. Not much of an oracle there, he mused – when you lived on a tiny island in the middle of the sea rain would more often happen than not. Still, he liked to watch the swallows flit here and there over the fields and muddy roads. They were so agile and free to turn wherever they wanted. Everything he was not.

“Good we got the harvest in”, said his father with his usual gruffness. “It looks like rain.”

Mikkel looked up at the man, saw his wrinkled and weather beaten face behind the mustache, the laugh lines around his eyes. Stocky, solid Morten Madsen, salt of the earth and all that. And yet it was his father who had taught him about the migration of birds, about the great sea-voyages of herring and eel, about the world-spanning currents of air and water.

“How are you bearing it?”, Mikkel asked in exasperation.

“How am I bearing what?”

“Staying here, on Bornholm, all your life?”

His father had the courtesy to pretend to think about an answer but Mikkel already knew what it would be.

“I am the oldest child. The farm goes to the oldest child. And someone has to make sure, people have stuff to eat and milk to drink.”

Mikkel let his hand slip form his father's and turned to the cart next to them. It was stacked fifteen feet high with hay, a pair of oxen was pulling it along the way in only a slightly faster pace than standing still. He climbed on the driver's seat and higher into the cart, balancing on the sides and holding on to a hay fork they had stuck to the side for safe keeping. His eyes searched the horizon and found only walls.

'Thank the stars I am not the oldest child', he thought with an impatient sigh.

 

~*~

Reynir took one deep gulp of air, took a short run and jumped off the barn roof. For a split second he hung in the air, a tiny, red-haired and freckled part of the sky, before gravity took hold on him and inevitably pulled him down to earth. With a squeal of giddiness at the tickle in his stomach he landed feet first in the huge stack of hay next to the barn. He surfaced in time, spitting hay stalks, to hear his brother's long-drawn “Cautioooooon!” who flopped into the stack half a metre away from him.

Both boys giggled with excitement and started to try dunking each other into the stack again. When it became apparent that Reynir refused to stay dunked his brother threw himself over Reynir's legs, hands up and fingers poised in the dreadful “Let's Reynir tickle until he wets himself”-pose, which, thankfully, hadn't happened for a few years.

“Attack!”, he yelled and Reynir tried to squirm away, already pre-emptively laughing tears.

“Jumping from the barn roof is an awesome idea”, his brother praised him later when the tickling had stopped.

Reynir wiped his face and squirmed a bit deeper into the fragrant hay, surrounding himself thoroughly with the smell of Island's short summer.

“I wanted to see if I could fly, if I only jumped from a high enough place. Because, if I could fly then I could see the world and would not have to worry about getting sick.”

“That's stupid. Everyone knows only Aesir can fly.”

“And birds, and bees, and _flies_ , and … you're stupid!” Reynir started to tick off all flying things that came to his mind but was cut short by a handful of hay thrust into his face.

“Bjarni! Reynir! Come inside and help setting the table!”, came the voice of his older sister, shortly followed by the sound of her steps.

“Aww, aren't you adorable!”, she said to Reynir when she arrived. She grasped him around the waist when he held out his arms to her and lifted him effortlessly out of the hay. She plucked a few stalks from his braid and send him running towards the house.

“And me?”, Bjarni asked and lifted his arms up, too.

“You're just horrible”, their sister said with mock-disgust but lifted him out, too.

 

~*~

How grown-ups could sit so long at a table and just talk about boring nonsense was a mystery to Emil. They had been at it for hours, he was sure, and he was running out of things to do. Looking around him at the mess of daisies, cranesbill and buttercups he had created in trying to weave a flower-crown, he groaned and let himself fall back into the lush grass.

If there were only other children around, he thought longingly, but there was a generation change happening in the Västerström family and no one was near him in age. There was a village nearby, sure, but the family had always made it a point to keep themselves to themselves and sometime in the last one or two generations the village people had just stopped trying to make friends. So Emil was mainly left in the care of his teachers and a governess who did seem to like him well enough but was rubbish at thinking up entertaining things. Emil swore to himself that, if she came to him with one of his children's books again he would eat grass until she stopped reading to him.

And sure enough, after a few minutes her face slid into his peripheral vision. He was busy then staring at the clouds up ahead, trying to catch them out at changing their form which they had to do, obviously, since every time you looked at them after a few minutes they looked different.

“What to read something, Emil?”, his Governess asked and held up a book.

He squinted up at it and shook his head when he recognized the cover picture. “No reading to me, please”, he said politely. “I loathe this book.”

“I wanted _you_ to read that book to _me_ ”, she said. “You are old enough to do your own reading. But if you don't like the story, what else should we do?”

Emil did not need to think long. He sat up, carefully remembering to smooth down his ruffled hair, and pointed straight the may-pole. It had been erected this morning by the men of the family while the women sat nearby at breakfast and laughingly shouted contradictory instructions. Now it stood there on the green meadow, all wound up with flowers and its colourful ribbons streaming in the mild wind.

“I want to dance.” He hadn't meant to sound that longing and swiftly tried to mask it with an extra stern look.

“All right”, she said and stood up, carefully looking away, as to not let him see the flicker of sympathy on her face. “I'll get some more dancers.”

Emil watched her walk over to the grown-up table and tried to ignore the nervous flutter in his stomach which turned into a flutter of joy when he saw his uncle Torbjörn and his new wife stand up immediately after the question was asked. Their smiles were radiant as they walked over the grass towards him.

It was aunt Siv pulled him up and lead him to the may-pole. “There is a law against feeling gloomy on midsummer”, she said, still smiling at him. “So, let's dance, Emil.”

Emil was not sure he should believe her but he was so happy right now he did not care. Some other relatives joined them under the pole and with a squawk from the old accordion the music started. As Emil skipped and weaved and danced he looked up into the laughing faces of his family but they were never as beatific as those of his aunt and uncle when they passed him.

 


	7. 67 - Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally in possession of what he had lost in his youth he cannot bring himself to face the possibility of illusions.

Prompt: 67 – **Home** (instead of Playing the Melody)

Summary: Finally in possession of what he had lost in his youth he cannot bring himself to face the possibility of illusions.

Pairing: Emil Västerström/Lalli Hotakainen

Characters: Emil Västerström, Lalli Hotakainen

Setting: Östersund, Västerström family residence

Rating: none

Warnings: none

Tags: nervous fretting

 

~*~

He was a man in the prime of his life; respected, loved, hero-worshipped even by some, although this idea did not appeal as much to him as it had once in his youth. He was sophisticated and self-assured, he knew who he was at his core-being and he knew his place in the world.

And yet, his hand was shaking and he could barely fit the key into the lock.

A slim hand came into his view and laid itself lightly on his broader one. The shaking stopped.

„I have waited so long for this“, he whispered hoarsely. „You know how it is to loose so much and without the hope of ever regaining it …“

„Home“, the other said quietly.

„Yes. I finally have it back.“ And yet he did not dare open the door. The Östersund branch of the Swedish Government had only recently vacated the place, so there were no trolls or beasts here, he knew.

„What if it's changed?“, he finally forced his fear out in a question. „What if …“ his entire memory of this place had been tainted by the memories of the happiness he had felt here and which had vanished from his world along with this house? What if he had to face the dreadful truth that, although he now owned the home of his childhood, the carefree happiness of it was gone forever?

The fingers around his hand tightened shortly and he looked around into grey eyes.

„Home is where I am“, his husband said steadily. „And if this house has changed, _we_ will change it again and make it ours.“

„Yes“, he said and turned the key.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to dump the original prompt 67 - Playing the Melody - because I have no idea what that means. And before I stumble along something I cannot grasp, better change it to something that means a lot to me and is oddly missing in the original prompt list.


	8. 58 - Kick in the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting for their pick-up from the Silent World and with time to kill Sigrun declares various types of evening entertainment. One evening is especially surprising to Emil.

Prompt: 58 – **Kick in the Head**

Summary: Evening entertainment with the crew has never been so startling.

Pairing: Emil Västerström/Lalli Hotakainen

Characters: Emil Västerström, Lalli Hotakainen, Rest of the Crew

Setting: Somewhere in Denmark, shortly before the end of the Mission

Rating: none

Warnings: none

Tags: fluff, poetry, Emil's POV

 

~*~

 

Water ran in tiny rivulets over Lalli’s back, causing shivers in its wake and tiny goose bumps but Emil quickly rubbed the soapy wash cloth over the exposed skin, careful not to bruise but forceful enough to quicken Lalli’s blood circulation.

“You know, you should really try to eat more”, he said softly to the scout as he stepped around the wash basin, lifted up Lalli’s arm and rubbed along the appendage. “We haven't got the finest of foods, I know, but cookies alone will not get you far. Sugar is bad for you.” He said emphatically and looked Lalli sternly in the eyes before taking the scout’s hand and carefully cleaning along every finger.

“Just a wee bit more, to get some meat on your bones. You're so thin, half the time it seems as if a gust of wind could blow you over.” When Lalli reached for the coarse brush to clean his fingernails Emil stepped around the basin again and picked up the hot water jug. He let some of the steaming water trickle over his hand first, checking the temperature, before he carefully bend Lalli's head back. Silver gray eyes sought his ones out before closing when Emil poured half of the hot water over Lalli's head.

Not much had changed but the time. Their mission was over. Now they had only to wait for their pick-up from the Silent World and several weeks of quarantine to look forward to and then … Emil hadn't thought so far as to what would happen after they made landfall in Iceland. His mind went blank every time he tried to envision himself back with the Swedish Cleansers but he was confident enough that something would present itself in due time. He tried to stay positive about the future.

One benefit about their fulfilled mission was that Lalli did not need to scout routes for them during the nights anymore and instead made his rounds during the day. And just as it had been in the beginning it was still Emil who helped Lalli with decon and who urged him to eat something before slinking into bed. As he worked shampoo into Lalli's hair Emil felt free to talk to the scout about this and that, tiny smidgens of information, snippets of conversation between crew members or general advice when needed. Sometimes about other things as well. It was something of their own that had taken shape during the winter months, something only they shared, even if Lalli couldn't understand what Emil said.

“You really should take better care of yourself”, Emil said in a steady whisper as he massaged the scout's scalp. He wasn't sure if he heard Lalli rumbling under his breath and, if so, if this was a sign of contentment or annoyance. Still, Lalli's hair was far from clean, Emil decided, so he continued washing the silky strands. “I mean, you have amazing eyes and your colours are awesome – like moonshine or something. And I would murder for your cheekbones and IS THAT A TICK?!”, Emil shrieked horrified as his finger brushed up on something rough and altogether too solid in Lalli's hair. He dug around in the soapy mess but relaxed when he found only a small piece of tree bark.

“What is this?”, he asked and pointedly showed his findings to Lalli, who lazily picked it from Emil's hand and flicked it away. “You wear a hood! How on earth did you get bark into your hair? Do you really roll around in mulch as Mikkel tries to convince me? Do you really want people to think that of you?” Naturally, Lalli did not answer and made no sign that he had heard at all. He just hunched a bit forward and huffed impatiently. Emil resumed threading his fingers through Lalli's hair, making sure to wash behind the ears and at the base of the neck.

“I like you the way you are, of course, but that doesn't count. But keep up as you do now, you are never going to make a good impression on people or even find that special someone.” Emil reached for the jug and poured the rest of the now lukewarm water over Lalli's hair. “There. Done.” He stepped back and dried his hands on a towel. Lalli stood up in a surge of soapy water and shook himself before he turned around and lightly patted Emil on the head.

“Kiitos.”

Further communication was brought short as an enthusiastic “Eeeemiiil!” echoed over the small meadow they had claimed as their camping spot. There was only one person around who would holler that loudly, maybe in the hopes of attracting something nasty from the nearby underbrush and thickets, and Emil trotted over to his Captain.

“Help me set this thing up, there's a lad”, Sigrun said and gestured over to a small trestle table which they had found in some attic weeks ago and which was miraculously still functioning if a bit mouldy. Emil groaned and rubbed his right shoulder.

“Arm-wrestling again, Sigrun?”, he nearly whined but tried to restrain himself. His shoulder still hurt from the last time Sigrun had ordered a round of arm-wrestling as an evening entertainment. It had come as no surprise to anyone that he had lost to her after nearly dislodging his shoulder. So had Tuuri and Reynir. Mikkel had fared really well, holding out ten minutes against Sigrun by just locking his arm with hers but Lalli had astonished them all by nearly winning!

Granted, he was left-handed and Sigrun had valiantly decreed that she would meet him on equal grounds. After only a few moments though, including a few near-losses and subsequent saves on Sigrun's part, Lalli had suddenly got up and walked out the door, leaving Tuuri in despair and a Three-Cookie-Depth with Reynir.

“Nah”, the Captain answered with a shifty glance at Mikkel, who was calmly stirring his cooking pot nearby.

“Please, not another driving lesson with Tuuri!”

Sigrun crinkled her brow and cast Emil a bewildered look. “Why would I need the trestle table for that? And I don't think the tank will survive another round.” They both turned to look at the heavily dented bumper of their vehicle and to Tuuri who was lovingly wiping a rag along it.

“ _We_ wouldn't survive another round”, they said in unison.

„Quit winding Emil up, Sigrun“, said Mikkel suddenly behind their backs. Neither of them had heard him approach and Emil couldn't suppress a yelp when the big Dane stepped around them and placed bowls and cutlery on the table. „We will have an evening of civilized entertainment for once. Poetry, songs, literary short forms. Now, run along Emil and fetch me the wash basin, please.“

„ _Literary short forms?_ “, he heard Sigrun whine as he walked back to the washing place. Lalli had finished dressing himself in the ridiculously large jumper and sweat pants Torbjörn had chucked in to their supplies when it became obvious that neither of the Finns (and his nephew) had brought sufficient clothing to last them through winter.

Emil felt Lalli's eyes on him as he lifted the basin and tipped the water out of it. When he turned around however the scout gave every notion of being absorbed in the task of gathering the toiletries into their sack. Together they walked over to the others.

Reynir and Tuuri were seated alongside the table, both with steaming bowls in their hands but too preoccupied to eat by the words which were had between Sigrun and Mikkel a few feet away.

„Don't try my patience, Mikkel. When I say a joke is a short form then it is.“

„I am not challenging your literary categorizing, Sigrun, I am just saying that I don't want to _hear_ any.“

„Too bad, big boy, because that's gonna happen.“ Sigrun turned over the wash basin with her foot, stepped on it and turned to her team with a broad grin splitting her feature. „Alright people. Let's have some proper amusement!“ She cracked her knuckles and said: „A Dane, a Swede and a Norwegian walk into a bar …“

Emil could not tell if Mikkel's or his own groan was loudest.

Several more jokes of said caliber were forthcoming during the next couple of minutes, followed by a story about how Sigrun had fought her way through a throng of boar-beasts only armed with a buttering knife.

When she had stepped down Mikkel tried to win the audience over with a short story about an old fisherman who caught an amazingly big fish in the North Sea but could neither reel it in nor cut loose the fishing line, so that the fish dragged him all over the sea in his little boat and he came close to dying from dehydration. Emil suspected the story had a point. Somewhere.

Tuuri's attempt at storytelling was better but Emil found his attention slipping away somewhere between the hero ploughing a field full of snakes and trying to catch a giant pike in some deathly waters. What was it with these people and fish anyway?

Reynir more or less stuttered his way through a set of folk songs, constantly wringing his braid and his face flushed to a colour which should be forbidden in combination with his hair.

It was his turn now and Emil rose from his seat when he saw Lalli stir out of the corner of his eye. To his surprise the scout made his way to their improvised stage and climbed on it with an expression of silent determination to get it over with. Emil sat down again and leaned towards Tuuri.

„Lalli doesn't look comfortable, maybe we should ask Sigr –“ He was interrupted by Lalli who said something in that barely-there whisper he employed when he had to speak about anything that didn't involve his job.

Emil turned back to Tuuri who was frowning slightly. „He says“, she translated, „that he will recite a poem. I didn't knew he knew any poems!“

„I am more surprised that he volunteered“, said Emil but was brought up short again. Lalli's gaze swept across the group once before he looked determinately off into the distance, then at the darkening evening sky, then down at his feet. He drew a deep breath and, barely louder than before, began to speak in soft, flowing lines. Never stopping, never once looking up until he had finished. His gaze flickered to Emil once before he sprang lithely down the tub and walked away, never looking back.

Next to Emil Tuuri slowly raised her hands and clapped them over her mouth, pure astonishment written over her face.

„Well? What does it say?“

The scald looked at him and cleared her throat. „I … it was beautiful“, she said after she had found her voice again. „I won't do it justice.“

„Try it“, Emil demanded.

Tuuri cleared her throat again and said:

 

_I lay my head to rest into your hands._

_Your voice encircles me,_

_A worldly haven made for us alone._

_Unfathomable:_

_In all the realms I know you are The Other One to me._

_Like sun and moon we are different, yet the same._

_Divided and apart by more than one sphere_

_Are you here still: golden shadow to my silver light._

_I see into your heart and feel your fire._

 

The world ground to a halt.

Somewhere from far off Emil heard Sigrun say that it was his turn now. What turn, he asked himself dumbfounded and felt himself stir. He should do something, he knew that. But what?

A small shiver ran through his body, pooled in his joints and made them heavy as lead. It made his movements jerky and blurry as he pushed himself out of his seat. His gaze swept over his comrades, not taking in any of their features, and honed in on the direction Lalli had left.

„I …“ Emil didn't bother finishing. With his heart hammering in his throat he ran after their scout.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Head-canon time! Finnish mages are actually very good a poetry since they need to be able to create Runos on the fly.  
> 2.Someone in chat, I guess it was Aki, came up with the idea of arm wrestling as an evening entertainment for the crew. It was too good to pass up. ^^  
> 3\. This story took a complete turn from what I imagined it to be. Lalli was supposed to be able to understand Emil here. Like aquiring the language before or during the journey and just keeping still about it. Well. He resisted.  
> 3.1. Lalli is totally OOC here, I fear. I can't get my head around that guy.


	9. 82 - Can You Hear Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are alone in a world of ever-growing darkness. All they have is their voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my negative-digit knowledge about amateur radio communication. I asked around but what I've learned about amateur radio would not fit with the mechanics of story-telling here, so I fudged it a little. Simultanious two way communication seems to be possible in Y90, soooo maybe Y2 can be overlooked?
> 
> The thing Jan is doing over the radio is a persiflage of a very popular German News Show, the Tagesschau. It is something of a fixture in early-evening television and its opening sentences are canon.  
> Please note that Jan's "news" are meant as a kind of gallows humour to make an unbearable situation more bearable. They feature tropes but are not meant as a slur.
> 
> This takes place in the same continuum as chapter one, roughly one and a half year earlier.

Prompt: 82 – **Can you hear me?**

Summary: They are alone in a world of ever-growing darkness. All they have is their voice.

Pairing: Denise/Jan

Characters: Original Characters: Jan, Denise, Agata

Setting: Year 2, somewhere in north-eastern Germany

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Character Death, implied suicide, infant death, Depression, Delusions

Tags: Year 2, angst, drama, depression, free-form

 

~*~

 

A slip of yellow light fell into the dark yard and vanished as the door fell close after a slim and tall figure had stepped through. For several seconds everything was quiet before quick footsteps could be heard and a slight creak indicated another door being opened. Only after this one had been shut as well a small light flared up and a illuminated the interior of a small tool-shed.

With careful and practised movements Jan set the oil-lamp down and turned the wick a bit higher, enlarging the flame and chasing the shadows around him to the far corners of the room. He looked carefully along the ground, into dark corners and at the ceiling before he turned towards a heavy blanket which concealed a misshapen lump on a bench before him. He lifted it away, revealing an amateur radio station which he switched on whilst sitting down before it. As soon as the various dials had lit up fully Jan put on a set of head-phones, big and clonky, seemingly from old army-stock and much patched.

He pressed a button to open a frequency and said: “Can you hear me? Everyone there?”

Static rushed in for about a second when he let the button go, then: “Of course we are! We waited for you, lazy-butt!”

Other voices chimed in, one after another, twelve in total, and Jan sank into his seat, relieved and happy that all was well. Smiling, he unfolded a piece of paper, opened the frequency again and read: “This is the First German Television with the _Tagesschau_. Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen.“

 

It was a play.

The whole world had died and shrouded itself in impenetrable danger and here thirteen people were holding conversation. Never seeing one another, never talking about the horror, never, not once, acknowledging the farce they were trying to uphold.

They were playing at normalcy when each of them was besieged by silence.

 

When he returned an hour later, Denise looked up from the rosehips she was threading up to dry and Jan flashed her a smile. She relaxed. Sometimes he came back with a stony face and shaking. She took him into her arms in those nights and then up to their bedroom. They loved each other amidst relics of a past that was not two years gone, but already seemed like an illusion. They never talked about it. There were no words that could soothe Jan's pain.

Today, though, he pecked her good-humouredly on the cheek before sitting down at the table and threading rosehips as well. The house around them was silent, the children long put into bed and the cats asleep under the tile stove. The oil lamp hanging over the table gave a warm and earthy glow and inside its small bubble of light everything was cozy and comfortable.

“Holger said one can pickle mushrooms as well as other vegetables.”

Denise nodded.

“And soapwort can really be used like soap, you need the roots for it or the herb itself.”

Denise nodded again.

“Thea's mother used to use it for washing after the war, she said.”

“Did she also say how it looks? Or where we'll find fresh herbs in winter?” Jan saw instantly that she was sorry for her snide remark and tried to put his hurt feelings away.

“She also said that horse chestnuts can be used as a kind of soap. Just cut them and drop them into water for a while.”

Denise's eyebrows flew up in pleasant surprise. “That is good to know”, she said. “We should still have some in the cellar.” They worked in silence after that. When Jan reached for rosehips the next time, however, Denise's hand caressed his for a second before she returned to her task.

 

_Twelve._

 

“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen! Beijing. The perpetual traffic jam, a major contributor to the city's smog problem, has of late somewhat receded. Party officials attribute this to the successful fulfilment of the third five-year-plan while unofficial voices claim this to be caused by a massive decrease in actual Beijingers. Asked about this, Party officials denied such rumours ever to have existed and quote: “were spread by dissidents trying to sow discord and mistrust between the people of the People's Republic of China. Those dissident voice have been silenced and relocated to our re-educational camps. Which we don't have, of course.”

It was necessary, so close to winter, to leave their places of safety and scrounge around in the ruins of their former world for food and supplies. Sometimes, _they_ became food themselves.

 

 _Eleven_.

 

“New York. Ticket-sales for new Broadway productions have reached an all-time low. Even more disturbing – the main actors of nearly all theatres seem to have disappeared. While some people claim to have seen Oliver Stud and Elisabeth Whooey in their Long Island home other sources insist that the involvement of Aliens is at the root of this problem. Speakers for London's theatres, which face similar problems, have meanwhile tried to stay positive about the whole affair. “At least now you always get prime seats at the Royal Shakespeare without having to cash in all your life-savings”, they stated at an ill-attended press conference.”

 

 _Ten_.

 

Winter came early and brought icy winds and little snow. But the frost was long and went deep into the earth, for once a blessing for those who had wood to burn and food to eat.

Not all were that fortunate.

 

 _Nine_.

 

The days grew shorter and the nights longer and the people of the village crowded together in their houses, sharing what they could spare and if it was only words of hope that spring would come again and they could breathe mild air again. Many old people died and were burned, their ashes scattered under apple trees. Some younger people were reaped before their time, killed off by nuisances and trifles. But killed nevertheless. Their ashes were scattered as well.

And one leaden morning the few of them gathered in the old church, close by the altar, and bid farewell to an infant who had not lived to see her second month because her mother could not nurse her and they couldn't find powdered milk anywhere.

When she laid entombed under the altar Jan and Denise walked back home to their own foster children and gathered them into their arms, trying to imprint themselves with the little one's scents and feeling.

 

 _Four_.

 

“Hermsdorf. Festivities for Christmas were a rousing affair this year. Seamlessly following and even surpassing last years festivities, they included choir music, which was not nearly as wonky as hitherto feared, carp that didn't taste muddy at all and chestnut purée, which was actually good. We send our love and blessings to all of you. Take care!”

 

 _Three_.

 

February came with eerie warm storms that wrecked trees and houses. But most of the village's households were abandoned anyway. Jan came back later every evening, scowling because he needed more and more time to find free frequencies.

“There are interferences on all our old frequencies. It's weird – they have never been there before and now I can barely understand what people are talking about sometimes.”

Denise looked at her husband and tried to be sympathetic. She knew how much those talks meant to Jan – his last anchor of technology in a world bereft of everything he had thought the fruits of progress – but she did not understand amateur radio and could not offer help.

They sat at the kitchen table again, Denise was sharpening knives and Jan was darning Emre's socks.

“I dunno, it's like people screaming in agony – only a long way off … Do you think someone has left a radio play running at a radio station nearby?”

She couldn't answer. Her hands shook as she put down her knives and remembered the screams she heard in her dreams each night.

 

 _Two_.

 

“Good evening, Ladies an--”

“Can you stop it please?”

Jan stopped, taken aback, but pressed the button to speak. “Of course. What is it Agata?”

He heard her take a deep breath and mumble something in Polish but the interferences were too distracting for him to make out any words he might know.

“You should stop playing this game”, she said. “It's not funny any more. You are playing at being a news anchorman when no one is here any more who remembers those. You have to open your eyes. You cannot play pretend any longer.”

Jan did not know what to say for a minute. His brows lowered and he leaned back into his chair. Some kind of vigour seemed to have left him but his voice was carefully blank and stable when he spoke.

“I am not playing pretend”, he said. “I … I know of the … “

“You can't even say it. How shall your family depend on you if you can't even face the truth of the world!”

“I can”, Jan protested. “If I have to.”

“Well, the time has come. Now!”

He flinched away from the radio station as if hit by the urgency in her voice. Then his brows knitted together in confusion.

“What is going on?”, he asked wary.

The silence which answered him told everything he needed to know, from her desperate urge to say 'Nothing' down to the terrible truth that she would not lie to her last friend in the world.

“Everything has changed”, she said at last. “I was bitten.”

Jan blanched so fast that he had to grip the table to keep himself from falling to the floor. His blood roared in his ears, his vision narrowed to a tiny white spot surrounded by blackness.

“There is no one here but me. And I am dead already.” She spoke with a deadly calm voice.

“You don't know that!” Jan roused himself and sprang forward, his head nearly crashing into the radio. “Remember how much people died in the first months and we all survived! Maybe there _is_ something like immunity. Please!” He was pleading now, pressing his words through a growing lump in his throat.

“I will not wait to find o--”

“NO!”

She sighed deeply. “I am tired and I am alone. I will never again see other people. This was the last straw. I will not sit around and wait until I drop dead or become a monster.”

Dread pooled in his lower intestines. “Wh … what are you planning. Agata! What are you going to do!”

“I have knives, I have a rifle. I will do it at sunrise tomorrow.”

“What about your beliefs? You're a catholic! Isn't it against God's law to take one's life?!”

She was silent for a minute and but he did not dare to hope.

“Look around you, Jan”, she said at last and very quietly. Her voice vibrated like steel. “There is no God.”

“No!” He was howling now. “Agata! Please! Don't! Please, DON'T!”

She had terminated the connection already.

 

 _One_.

 

Denise came for him eventually.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, carefully in case he was asleep, but he was wide awake. Curled in on himself and empty but wide awake. If she saw his tear-streaked face she said nothing but she helped him stand and wrapped her arms around him, allowed him to lean on her until his shaking had stopped and he could stand on his own again. Then she led him back into the house.

 

 _One_.

 

He did not go into the shack the following morning.

He did not stir from their bed at all.

Days passed, filled with chores, he couldn't do and children he could not amuse. He felt empty and wrung out. What sense was there in trying? They would all die, one way or another.

Eventually, Denise made him go into the shack and try the frequencies, but there was nothing but static and the ever encroaching screams.

They were alone.

 

 _One_.

 


	10. 63 - Do Not Disturb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lush summer night, a lake, two lovers. And the rest of the family.

Prompt: 63 – **Do Not Disturb**

Summary: A lush summer night, a lake, two lovers. And the rest of the family.

Pairing: Emil/Lalli

Characters: Emil, Lalli, Cats, Children

Setting: around Year 110, Östersund, former Västerström-residence, takes place in the same continuum as Chapter 7 "Home"

Rating: Mature

Warnings: hand-job, break-up memories and a related teensy bit of angst, mentions of breakdowns and serious burns

Tags: Slice of life, angsty memories, fluff, cute children, marriage, Lalli and Emil are 20 years older, this is what happens when I want to write smutty fluff as gratification for myself - I give them a troubled past and no plot whatsoever

 

~*~

 

As early as their first visit in Mora Lalli had known that Emil would always want a family.

Emil had been alone for a long time until Fate, in disguise of some mingling relatives, had thrown him into the Silent World and into Lalli's path but even when they had married and moved together into a small house in Mora, Emil had wished for a home that was not cold and empty when one of them had to go away on a military campaign.

But it was always too soon, too dangerous, too little. As long as they both worked in the field it was too dangerous to bring little ones into their lives who might become orphaned. When they both managed to land jobs in Mora their place was too small for a large family. But in truth, it was always too soon for Lalli. He felt overwhelmed by the adults in his life often enough, by their demands on his time and emotions and words. How could he take over responsibility for children?

They argued about it often in the early days of their marriage. It had nearly driven them apart. When Emil had _stopped_ talking about it Lalli had given in.

They had ruled out the Dagrenning right away. Success-rates in the Icelandic breeding program were not high and would be even lower for two men trying to utilize it via a donor-egg, so there was no point in wasting time and hope on something that might never come to pass. But every summer brought new deaths in the desperate war for survival humanity was fighting and some of the dead left children behind who now had no-one to take care of them. So by and by they had taken four little ones into their home and into their hearts.

When asked why they did this Emil Hotakainen would smile demurely and say something along the lines of „taking care of those newest victims of the Rash“ or „sharing the good luck which the Gods bestowed on us“, while his husband stood beside him and glowered darkly at the asker, daring them to form any bad opinion on two gay men raising a bunch of children.

 

Not long after another long-held dream came true when Emil and Lalli received an unexpected pay-out from the Nordic Council Health Board after the cure, they had found in their first mission two decades ago was finally save enough to be contributed. Suddenly they were rich enough that they could purchase what once had been the Västerström family home. Emil had rejoiced at finally being able to return to the place of his childhood but even more so that he could finally provide his own family with a home suited for their needs.

As spring turned into summer that year the mansion underwent major reconstruction: enlarged bedrooms, smaller sitting-rooms, a large eating area near the kitchens, the ornate open staircase replaced by one small and one hidden, that lead to a succession of rooms solely designed as a refuge for the kids to play in undisturbed by any adults. And a secret passage between cherry-orchard and cellar, of course.

Lalli had walked away from the blueprints the day _that_ was added and had taken refuge on the wooden pier which extended far into the ornamental lake behind the house, pretending to fish and all the while hiding a smile at Emil's not-so-secret desire to live out all the things he had missed during his lonely childhood. When some time during the afternoon part of the roof blew off in an explosion of dust and controlled fireworks Lalli had barely flinched. Emil had said something about the children needing a solar anyway.

When summer turned into autumn they completed the move to Östersund: Emil and Lalli, their kids Matilda (10), Albin (10), Linnea (8) and, coincidentally, Emilia (7), their cats Malte and Gregorius and several ducks, who gladly took to the lake. Lucia that year was celebrated in a house full of laughter and stories. And when Matilda, with lights in her hair, led the procession of children into the dark house from the snowy outside, Lalli could not remember ever seeing Emil happier.

As spring returned next year it brought not only flowers and warmer sunshine but an addition to the Hotakainen-Family in the form of Lukas and Axel (13), twins, who had lost both parents in a shipwreck in the Baltic Sea the previous year and whose grandmother had passed away during the winter.

„We need to get a help“, Lalli decided one Sunday morning as they woke up, once again, under a pile of little humans and one cat on top. Emil's objections on that matter, which were considerable, were fortunately muffled by a human foot and a hairy paw lying across his mouth and thus Lalli felt in his right to ignore them. And so they hired Maertá, a competent social worker and nurse, who brought her two-year-old daughter along.

Now there were seven children, three adults and several critters living at the Hotakainen-residence. Barely enough for Emil and sometimes barely bearable for Lalli, who, despite his best intentions found the noise and movements in the house sometimes too much for him.

 

~*~

 

It was a balmy evening in late June as Emil broke away from the noisy barbecue they had on the patio and took a stroll around the lawn, stretching his back and arms which hurt after a long day of lugging around groceries, furniture and children. Although they lived here for more than a year now, their home was still in the middle of being reconstructed to accommodate their large family.

On a whim Emil toed off his boots and socks, felt the smooth grass and occasional weed for a moment under the soles of his feet before he set off the path down to the ornamental lake in search for his husband. Whenever the noise of seven children became too much for Lalli, Emil could usually find him in or around the lake, fake-fishing, since they had not gotten around to adding any fish to it yet, but seemingly enjoying it with every fibre of his being.

He stopped again when the first noises of a temper drifted out into the night and for a split second Emil was on the verge of turning back to the house, but instantly he heard Maertá's voice who was already on the spot and worked her brand of magic in calming the kid down. She had joined their household as a housekeeper and governess after Lalli had put his foot down and demanded, actually demanded, a third pair of adult hands to wash, groom, teach and play with the children. Emil had objected fervently. It had reminded him too much of the handling he had received as a child by relative strangers – their interest in him had never felt genuine, never really warm and comfortable. They had been _servants_ not _parents_. He would do anything to save his children from ever feeling like a burden like he had.

In the end it had been one more lesson Emil had had to learn in his life: Look at the task in front of you and if you can't do it properly on your own, get help. Maertá had turned out to be a treasure. She was the widow of a colleague of Emil, a Cleanser like himself, who had been killed in a wildfire when the wind turned unexpectedly. She was also a trained nurse and had accepted the offer gladly. In a way, Emil mused, she and her two-year-old daughter were nearly as much wards of this house as any of the children. They all had lost so much and found a place here, to regain a bit of happiness.

The edge of the lake made itself known by the fresh smell of water and sticks poking into his soles and Emil wished he hadn't left his shoes back at the orchard but he trudged on, gritting his teeth against the occasional sting but altogether too happy with the moment to turn back. A quick look towards the middle of the lake showed no sign of the skiff Lalli used sometimes when he _really_ needed to be alone and Emil couldn't also spot him on the wooden pier that reached into the lake and which was a most fervently fought for spot for jumping into the water on hot afternoons. This meant that Lalli was sitting somewhere along the shore, snugly hidden away in a clump of birch trees or willows, probably amused by the racket Emil was making.

„Lalli?“, Emil called quietly when he had reached the waterline.

„You're spooking the fish“, came an answer from his left and Emil set off there. With the lights from the house hidden behind the trees Emil's night-vision gradually return to him. Soon he was able to spot his husband sitting perfectly still on a log, perched as if on the fly, eyes honed on him and his expression unreadable. Emil was reminded of the fey scout Lalli had been in the first weeks of their journey, barely fit for human company and prone to run away when pressed for any kind of interaction he could not endure. Emil smiled at him and assumed a calm stance, hands in his pockets, arms and shoulders slack.

„Are they biting?“, he asked in a murmur, deciding to play along in this silliness.

„No.“

„Maybe they're on vacation?“ Emil felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. He resisted about three seconds before he snorted a laugh. „Sorry!“, he chuckled.

Lalli raised one eyebrow in response as he always did when something his partner did amused and appalled him at the same time. But he relaxed and sat down properly on the log.

„Maybe“, he said. „Or maybe we should try another spot.“

Emil's grin returned and threatened to split his face. He took Lalli's outstretched hand and followed him as he lead Emil along the shores and deeper into the willow thickets which grew around the less maintained areas of the lake. As always when Lalli offered to take him along to his retreat on his own volition Emil felt a flutter of nervousness and pride tickle through him. It felt as if he had won the other's trust for the first time all over again.

They did not walk far but as the lake was not big either their short walk did almost take them to the opposite end of it, coming from the house. It's lights could be seen shining through the trees but they were extinguished by the gibbous moon and the bright summer night sky. Lalli's hideout was virtually indistinguishable from the thickets around it since it was nothing more than a few saplings woven together and the ground beneath them padded with reeds and moss. It felt like a castle to Emil when he sat down next to his husband and looked over the lake in silence.

After a few minutes Emil felt Lalli shift and lean against him which he took as a cue to lay his right arm around Lalli's waist.

„Happy Anniversary“, he muttered and pressed his lips on Lalli's forehead. He felt him stiffen in his arm.

„Third time is the charm?“, Lalli asked quietly.

Emil screwed his eyes shut and cursed himself inwardly. He hadn't meant to remind Lalli of their past troubles. After all these years he still didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

„I'm sorry“, he beseeched him. “Forget what I said!”

Lalli was still for some moments before he unstiffened with a sigh.

„Sorry“, Emil said again.

Another sigh, this one sounding annoyed. „Don't apologize“, Lalli said curtly. „It's useless and presumptuous.“ Emil opened his mouth to object but found Lalli's forefinger shutting his lips. „Don't“, he said again. In the dim moonlight Emil could see Lalli's eyes staring intently at him. He shuddered and pulled the Finn closer.

„I love you“, he said around the finger still on his lips.

Lalli blinked slowly and removed the finger to replace it with his lips. „That's all you need to say“, he murmured between kisses. Emil's eyes fell shut as he leaned into Lalli's next kiss, parting his lips and welcoming him in.

 _Idiot_. _Savage_. _Liar_. _Freak_. What _hadn't_ been said between them? Memories came unbidden and showed a younger Lalli, barely into his twenties, shaking with emotions too brutal to handle, eyes blazing with cold fury as he stood in their apartment door, gripping the door frame for support as Emil picked up his suitcase and left. _Fool_.

Lalli swung one leg over him and came to sit in his lap, threading his hands into Emil's hair before reaching around and untying the knot at Emil's neck. His mane spilled open and down his back, way past his shoulder blades. But any thoughts about missed hair-dresser appointments flew out of the window when Lalli raked the fingers of both hands over his neck and scalp, giving him goosebumps all over his body and sending shivers down his spine. He reached up and brushed his right hand over Lalli's cheek before leaning in for another kiss.

This one had an edge of urgency. Lalli's hands wandered around to cup his face while he pressed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, his cheeks, his brows before returning to seal their mouths together. Emil lowered himself to the ground when his left arm couldn't support their weight any longer. Lalli followed him and used the new angle to nip a trail along Emil's throat that reached further down Emil's body as Lalli was actually going. Heat pooled wherever Lalli touched him and he himself felt Lalli's skin grow warm under his roaming hands.

It had been too long!

He reached up to pull Lalli back to him when he felt his husband stiffen and push himself up. His head whipped around and he was alert in an instant. Emil tried to push himself up, adrenalin already rising in anticipation of a vermin-beast or something worse, when he spotted two glowing pinpricks of light where Lalli was staring. Muttering curses under his breath, Lalli blindly groped for something at his side and threw it at the glowing eyes. A dull thud, followed by an annoyed hiss and a flick of a tail and their unwanted spectator was gone.

“Wha …?”

“The damn cat you sicked on me.”

Emil chuckled. “Oh, horrendous crime! How may I ever repay you for the pain I put you through?”

Lalli stared him in the eyes for a moment before a slow and downright wicked smirk spread across his face. Teeth glinted in moonshine and Emil felt a searing stab of desire flash through him. Lalli didn't answer but put his hands to Emil's chest, rubbing his thumbs over Emil's nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt before they slid lower, under the cloth and up again, pulling the shirt up and over Emil's head. He flung it to the side before his hands returned to Emil's body, stroking and massaging the sculptured flesh, tracing faint scars. Emil arched into the touch, sliding his own broad hands up Lalli's thighs, over his hips, to his groin where he started to unbutton Lalli's trousers.

Lalli's hands stilled. Emil felt his shaking intake of breath more than he heard it, felt his eyes rest on himself but didn't look up. Lalli's touch on his arms, both his arms, however let his head snap up in surprise. Lalli had made his peace with the runes Reynir had carved all over Emil's left arm a long time ago, after all they had healed the bone-deep burns there and made certain Emil could still use the appendage, but he seldom touched the limb if he could avoid it. Now his gaze captured Emil's, his hands came to rest upon Emil's and he gently pressed them against his bulging crotch before he reached up and pulled his shirt over his head. Through half-lidded eyes Emil saw the glowing outline of his husband as the moon came out from behind some clouds and shone her silvery light down on them.

Lalli leaned down, bringing his mouth to Emil's. „Hurry,“ he whispered hoarsely between kisses when they had to surface for breath.

Emil hurried to open the last buttons and slipped his hand ins--“WAAAAAAAAHAAAAAA!”

An abysmal scream rang out over the still lake and the surrounding woods, followed by a giant thunk and a splash. Immediately after footsteps thundered on wooden planks as the rest of their horde stampeded down the jetty and jumped off the platform. Where the silence of a summer night had reigned only seconds before, complete with a thrilling nightingale far off and a soft breeze rustling the reeds, now children's laughter and screeches rang. Emil couldn't imagine a more joyous sound and he felt a smile play around his lips until he outright grinned when he sat up and looked around Lalli at their swimming children.

Lalli's arms encircled his shoulders and brought his attention back to the man sitting in his lap. He leaned in to kiss him again and his hand returned to Lalli's crotch, when –

“Hey! There's something white over there!”

Emil felt Lalli stiffen and emit a small exasperated growl.

“It looks like a person”, someone piped up. “Hej, Lalli!” Emil identified Linnea and felt a stab of annoyance that the younger children weren't in bed by now but remembered that it was the school holidays.

“Nah, that's never Lalli”, Axel said with conviction. He obviously didn't wear his glasses.

“But don't you see the silver hair?”, Linnea insisted.

Emil tipped his head forward and laughed softly into Lalli's shoulder. “She has your eyes”, he chuckled and felt Lalli loosen up a bit. He kissed his husband's collar bone, and again, and again, when Lalli's hand slipped into his hair and pressed his head down. His hand returned in earnest to Lalli's crotch and slipped inside, gently palming and caressing the half-hard cock it found there waiting. He felt Lalli's sigh as a flutter to his chest.

Another set of footsteps rang on the wooden pier and Maertá's voice ordered the children out of the water. They protested, of course, but went soon enough when she promised them all a round of hot chocolate with whipped cream on top.

“And they have your sweet tooth”, Emil added in a whisper when the lake was empty again and Lalli felt free to thrust into his hand in long, slow movements.

“Silly swede!”, Lalli gasped breathlessly.

„Let's have some more“, Emil said with a smirk in his voice but found himself increasingly distracted by Lalli's movements on him. His own trousers were painfully tight around his cock but he knew they would eventually come to that. Lalli in his arms, Lalli moving against him and into his hand, kissing him and moaning into his mouth, Lalli's hands roaming all over his body was so much more important right now.

 

Dawn was heralded from every tree when they emerged from the woods. They were glowing with contentment. Last night they had found each other on the edge between civilization and wilderness and their love had grown stronger for it. Bare feet brushing through dew-kissed grass, heads crowned with leaf-litter and hands entwined they walked slowly back to the house.

 


	11. 36 - Precious Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scavenging through the remains of a dead world Emil has time on his hands to bemoan his descend in life. Until he finds something very precious, indeed.

Title: Coal

Prompt: 36 – **Precious Treasure**

Summary: Scavenging through the remains of a dead world Emil has time on his hands to bemoan his descend in life. Until he finds something very precious, indeed.

Characters: Emil, The Crew

Setting: Y90, shortly after the start of the mission, before the ghost appear

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Moping, angsty memories

Tags: character insight, memories, Emil being Emil, once-in-a-lifetime-decisions, humour

 

~*~

 

He felt the exact moment when this day's expedition went from bad to worse. The constant dribble of rain had equally worked its way into his hair and collar, soaking both to the limits of their structural integrity and when his drenched tresses came to lay upon the collar it just flipped down and rivulets of icy-cold water started flowing down his back. His undershirt was _supposed_ to be thermal and water repellent, he thought freezing. But then again, their expedition was _supposed_ to be well-provisioned as well.

_ Years before and tucked securely away in his large bed-room he had actually liked rainy days. The more it poured the more he liked it, because it meant he could stay indoors. Because it meant he needn't go outside and play with his friends – as his well-meaning but utterly misinformed parents insisted. Because it meant he could lounge on the thick carpet in front of his fireplace, watch the flames, listen to the crackle of wood and bask in the warm glow of the fire. He had felt dizzily comfortable on such days. When everything was fine. In the past. _

“Hurry up, Sigrun”, he hissed under his breath but didn't look around at his captain as she wrangled a rusted-shut door into submission. He was on guard. Rain meant that the temperature was warm enough for grosslings to wander about. Maybe sluggishly, but moving nonetheless and he felt in no way inclined to repeat his clash with the local troll-life any time soon.

He whipped around to his left, knife at the ready, as he saw movement in his peripheral vision but it was only a plane which had come loose in the wind. He returned to his position and tried to calm his heartbeat. Better be extra alert than dead, he thought, but still felt a twinge of exasperation at his own panic. Sigrun had called him her right-hand warrior, someone with Viking-blood in them and here he was, panicking at plastic. His inner cringe returned with vengeance as he remembered what had instantly happened after Sigrun had called him Viking. He could never live that down.

The rattle behind him had grown constantly louder during the last few moments and now it was loud enough to pierce through his musings. He let himself fall back to where Sigrun was literally hanging off the door-handle.

“Isn't that a bit loud?” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Don't fret, Sparkles, any trolls lurking around here would have jumped at us by now.” She had been shaking her arms out while talking to him but now gestured him to take her place at the door-handle. “I got the lock open but some bolts along the door have rusted shut. You pull at the handle with all you've got and I take this”, she gestured with her rifle, “and lever it open.”

He sheathed his knife, grabbed the handle and pulled, creating a small gap about a hand's width. The captain inserted the butt of her rifle and nodded to him.

“On three”, she ordered. “One, two, THREE …!” He pulled, she stemmed. They managed to burst one bolt out of its frame before Emil's hands slipped on the wet handle and slammed the door back onto Sigrun's rifle, which in turn jammed her right hand into the wall. “Forbannet!”, she cursed and wedged the injured hand under her armpit.

“I'm sorry! So sorry!!”, Emil gibbered and felt the heat rise in his face. What a clumsy dolt he was! Sigrun held out her uninjured hand and motioned him to calm down. She herself drew a deep breath, removed the glove from the hand and flexed her fingers.

“Nothing broken”, she said and added briskly: “Now stop fretting!”

Emil bit back a reply and instead asked: “Maybe we should see if there's a window open or so?”

“This is a warehouse, boyo. If it had open windows, we needn't go in there.” Sigrun flexed her hand one last time and put the glove back on.

“Okay, warrior, one last try and then we'll either get this thing open or Mikkel can cook grub from treebark as far as I care.”

Emil shuddered as much with cold as with the image. Scraping unimaginable treebark-goo with wooden spoons from wooden bowls like savages? Never!

Sigrun's snapped fingers brought him back into the present. “Stop thinking with your stomach and get cracking with your hands.” She had the door-handle in her hands, this time, and Emil hurried to get his rifle ready.

“On dritt”, Sigrun said. “Helvetes – troll – dritt!”

A screech of metal, a loud bang and the cursed bolt broke at last. Emil lost his bearings and stumbled backwards as the door sprung open in his grip but Sigrun was instantly back into alert mode. Emil pressed himself onto the wall next to her and fumbled for his knive while the captain first listened for sounds and then took a few steps into the dark room. Emil followed her with his eyes until she vanished around a pile of crates, then he turned back to watch the surroundings. He was really nervous now. The ruckus they had made must've have been loud enough to wake the dead – so where were the hordes of monsters which supposedly _lived_ in this city and which his instructors had taught him to expect?

He felt a nervous twitch in his left eye and rubbed it absentmindly. The rain had ceased to a drizzle for now but he still was wet and slowly starting to freeze. He tried to focus on his job but found his thoughts slip away increasingly more often to a vision of a hot water bottle he could wrap himself around. Or a fire he could warm his feet at. Or even a dry coat if nothing else was to be had.

A soft scratching froze him to the spot. “Sigrun!” he hissed as loud as he dared out of the corner of his mouth.

“What?” came the answer instantly and made him jump. The captain stepped soundlessly back into the light.

“N-nothing”, Emil stuttered and felt himself going red again. “Just checking …”

Sigrun gave him a look but didn't comment. “Allright”, she said and shook out the bags they've brought with them. “Most of the stuff in there is garbage. The roof has mostly gone and the rain has spoiled everything beneath. Look for stuff in plastic boxes”, she answered his question before he could utter it.

With one last glance around him he followed her inside.

It was just as well that most of the corrugated steel roof had come down sometime during the last 90 years, otherwise the stink of this place might just have killed him on the spot, Emil thought after his eyes had adjusted to the slightly darker interior and he had seen the mounds of muck which once had been food containers. It was just as freezing in here as it was outside and he could hear the sound of trickling and splashing water as the rain poured through the roof's openings. A whiff of pig-sty persisted though. But at least they wouldn't find any troll nests here, he added with relief. 

“You're sure there's anything worthwhile in here?” He took a few tentative steps into the large room and turned around to check on Sigrun's progress. She carefully took her way along the other wall, eyes fixed to the ground but ever so often darting up and ahead.

She shrugged at his question but did not look over to him. “As I said: Plastic's your friend. Or anything in unbroken glass. You might have to move stuff around.”

Emil looked back at the Mulch Mountains in his wake and sighed. How far down had he come, he mused bitterly. _Once upon a time he would have only to step into_ _the spacey kitchen in his parents' house, where there were always delicious things to be had: Kotbullar with_ _Gräddsås and tranbär, graved lax, violettglass. Or prinsesstårta_ _at his birthdays. If he concentrated he was just able to remember the taste and texture of marzipan on his tongue._ If he concentrated he might be able to block out the encompassing smell of dry sewerage and silage permeating this place. 

“Oy!” His head jerked around at the call and he flinched in half-remembered training and got a handful of plastic-wrapped feathery white stuff into his face.

“Imagine that”, Sigrun laughed. “Toilet paper! Paper made extra for the Big One! Those Old-Worlders, they crack me up every time!”

Emil bent down and inspected the small plastic-wrapped packet she had thrown at him. Rain had found a way in there, too, and fused it's contents to a pulp, but he now saw the picture of a toilet seat printed on it. It sparkled. Then he realized what Sigrun had said.

“What? I thought everyone had toilet paper?”, he spurted out. Of course everyone had that, didn't they? At least everyone civilized? He looked incredulously at his Norwegian captain. 

“Of course we have”, she answered matter-of-factly. “What else are newspapers for?”

He waited a few seconds to see whether this was a joke and decided to laugh cautiously. And stock up before ever setting foot into Norway.

They had developed a rhythm during the early salvaging missions and when Lalli had been too exhausted to come with them and keep watch: Every five steps they would look up from what they were doing and check their surroundings, Emil _always_ making sure to look up, and so far no beast of troll had managed to sneak up on them again. Although, Emil had to concede, most grosslings they met were too large, too soggy or too gross for stealth and seemed to want nothing more than barge forward into cold steel or a barrage of bullets. Had he been a more thoughtful man he might have wondered about this but so he contented himself to carefully check the Old World's leftovers for anything useful.

Not half an hour had passed in that way and Emil felt his mind slip away into his habit of judging everything around him after the best way to get it to burn. _It started back home in Östersund, when he hid himself away in the large and cluttered attic of his family-home. There his parents' raised voices and the occasional crashing pottery were drowned out and he had spend many an afternoon looking listlessly out of the small gable window into the forbidden wilderness, picturing himself as a captive prince with not only one but two dragons to guard his prison. After this got boring he had started to look through the accumulated stuff of four generations of Västerströms. He had taken small items back to his room for closer inspection: a puzzle on one day, a wooden toy on another, photo albums …_

_He couldn't say what made him burn them in his fireplace but he clearly remembered the excitement when he discovered the different ways in which they burnt. Paper was boring and gone too fast, plastic was just a stinking mess which curled up and vanished, but Wood burned forever with lots of heat and a faint hiss. It reached deep into him and thawed the ice which had grown thicker in his guts with every loud word from his parents. He knew he should have felt something other than excitement at the destruction of his family's properties, but as the only child of the eldest Västerström it was going to be his anyw--_

“ARGH!” He tore his hand away from the press board he was lifting up, having seen a dark shadow move under it and jumped back, skidded on the piles of rubbish and was steadied by Sigrun, who, knife at the ready, materialized next to him. She kicked the board up again, pulverizing parts of it in the progress but whatever had startled Emil wasn't there any more. They heard a last indignant squawk a few metres off and silence reigned once more.

“A rat?”, Emil asked uncertain.

“Maybe”, said Sigrun. With any immediate or imaginary threat gone she squatted down and took a closer look at what lay underneath the sheet of press board. “Nice find!”, she said appreciative and pulled out a large crate filled with tin cans.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Could be anything, really” said Sigrun pulling one of the tin cans out and giving it a gentle shake. Slight sloshing could be heard. Suddenly she drew her arm back and hurled the can as far away as she could. A loud _ploff_ could be heard as the can came down and soon afterwards a helish stink wafted back to them. Emil scrambled back to his feet and hurried to pull his collar up and over his nose. Sigrun rose also but only unrolled her turtle neck over the lower half of her face, giving her an even more roguish appearance as usual.

“What is that smell?” Emil asked nasally and close to fainting. “A dead beast?”

“Nah. Tin cans are only good for storing food as long as they're intact.” Sigrun pulled a second can out of the crate and carefully turned it upside down. She pointed to the lower lid, which was slightly bulging outwards. “More often than not stuff goes rotten in there. Had a quartermaster once who got spewed all over with yuck when one of these exploded. Had to shave his hair off 'cause the stench wouldn't wash out.”

“Oh Gods!” His hands flew to his hair and gripped it tight just to reassure him that it was still there. He knew this was probably making him look foolish but he couldn't help it.

“Yep.” Sigrun walked over to her side of the warehouse again. “Better stick to canisters where we can see what's inside. If there's some bugs in it, Mikkel can always shake 'em out.”

Emil did not want to think about bugs or any other creature or beast, come to think of it, he just wanted to be out of this dump, out of the cold and constant rain and constant danger! He wanted to get out of stinking Denmark! Why, oh why, had he listened to his uncle! Why had he let himself become ensnared with this harebrained scheme? Riches? Ha! He would be lucky to be alive tomorrow! Better be poor in Sweden than dead in Denmark!

A small tinkle could be heard as he wrenched the top off another crate. Mostly filled with shards, he noted, but then his searching eyes found one intact bottle. He pulled it out. Liquid amber shone richly even in the dim light of the rainy Danish morning. He stared at it for a moment, overwhelmed at the promise this bottle contained.

“He hee hee …” Better be _rich_ in Sweden.

 

It was late afternoon when they came back to the camp. The rain had finally stopped but a chill permeated the air that made it difficult to think of anything else than a big roaring fire.

There was a fire in front of the Cat-tank. It was meagre.

Their forage had proven fruitful and all their bags were full to the brim with dried goods. They had even found some spices, which Emil only remembered from his childhood days and which the others probably never heard of, bar the Icelander perhaps: Cinnamon, Pepper and Cardamom. And they even had managed to rustle up a small troll for Sigrun on their way home which made the day perfect for the captain, although not for her cleanser as he had been on the receiving end of that troll's attention and squelched now in boots and trousers splattered with troll-goop that didn't bear closer examination. He therefore made a bee-line towards the open door of the Cat-Tank once he had dumped his cargo.

“Stay in the entrance”, Mikkel called after him and Emil raised a hand in sign that he had heard him. He was greeted by the kitten, who paused her scratching for a moment to stare at him. Under her protesting “Mrrp!”, Emil picked her up and gently put her outside before shutting the door of the tank. He fished the bottle out of his inner jacket pocket and looked at it for a minute, then he dumped it into the UV-compartment, piled his gloves and boots in there as well and initiated the process. Stripping, washing and drying off – he went through the motions of decontamination on automatic while brooding about his find. His initial euphoria was subdued now under a guilty conscience.

He waited in the washing area until the UV-process was done, all the while listening for approaching footsteps but only hearing “Ohs” and “Ahs” from the others who obviously had started to sort through their haul. He didn't know if he was hoping for or dreading an intruder but no-one came. The UV-Unit clicked and went dark. He took his stuff and went into the sleeping compartment in search for his spare clothes. His first urge was to hide the bottle under his pillow which was moronic even in his eyes. Then he wondered if he should hide it in his luggage, between his work equipment, somewhere in the tank where no one would look … Then he sat down on his cot and just rolled the thing between his fingers, listening to the quiet sloshing. This thing was worth a mint, he knew. He had _seen_ others like it back … then. And if he interpreted the numbers on this label correctly, this distillate was made nearly thirty years before the death of the Old World. For certain people this would make it worth any asking price.

Emil closed his eyes and groaned. Enough money to get out of the squalor that was his current life. A place to call his own in Mora. Space and privacy. A place to belong. A place to entertain guests, to welcome family, to live with … Never _these_ friends. This betrayal would end everything between them, he just knew. But he couldn't just go outside now and nonchalantly present the bottle with a smile. Everyone would know what he had done! He let himself fall back and groaned again. Images kept appearing behind his eyes: A cosy living room, squared windows looking out onto a busy street in Mora, carpets on the wooden floor boards, a crackling fire in the fireplace. The images slipped away and Emil was brought back to here and now. He felt the hard mattress under his back, saw the familiar pattern of annual rings in the ceiling's wood panelling, smelled the familiar smell of six people sleeping in too small a space. He felt a smile tug on his lips. If he stood up and looked under Tuuri's cot he would find Lalli's crumpled blanket, if he drew his naked feet across the floor some of Reynir's hairs would bundle up under his soles, if he looked under the stove he would find the knitted socks Mikkel put on every night before going to bed and if he went to the study area he would find Tuuri's organized mess of mission notes and cookie-crumbs (she had a sweet-tooth that was apparently only out-matched by Lalli's). He felt the smile becoming wider. If he waited long enough, Sigrun would eventually bound up the stairs and shout for him to join them outside before the kitten could eat his meal. He beamed now. And went outside, bottle in hand.

“I was just coming to get you”, Sigrun greeted him as he walked around the fire to were Mikkel stood with the evening brew-up of rose hip tea. “We had a hell of a time to keep Kitty from stepping in your food.”

Emil just smiled as an answer and watched as the kitten was carefully plucked off Reynir's back which she had evidently climbed while playing with his braid.

“Here's something I found today and I thought we could spice up the tea with it”, Emil said quietly to Mikkel.

The Dane took the proffered bottle and looked at it with raised eyebrows. “You're sure?” He gave Emil an piercing look which made the heat rise in Emil's cheeks but he did not back away from it and nodded firmly. Mikkel gave him a small smile and opened the bottle.

 

When he later sat down at his usual place, next to Lalli and close enough to the fire that he felt his shins burn, Emil knew that the lump of smouldering heat he felt in his chest was not coming from the Scotch at all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aliax recently accused me of being a hopeless romantic under my cynic layer. I fear that might be true.
> 
> Many thanks to Kjeks of the Forum who provided me with assorted Norwegian expletives.


	12. 15 - Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Emil to create a gateway to safety Lalli reflects on the meaning of Silence.

Prompt: 15 - **Silence**

Summary: While waiting for Emil to create a gateway to safety Lalli reflects on the meaning of Silence.

Characters: Lalli Hotakainen, Emil Västerström

Setting: Silent World, Odense

Rating: none

Warnings: none

Tags: Lalli's POV, musings, slight suspense, sensory overload

 

~*~

 

When the late winter sun drudged herself high enough over the derelict roofs to announce the new day the wind rose as well and curled her fingers through his hair. Lalli reached back and flicked his hood over his head. A precise, swift motion, gone in a blink of the eye. He was still again, lying on a tar-paper-decked roof, his rifle cocked and Emil in his sight. Not that he could see much of the Cleanser at this distance but it would suffice, if the worst came to pass.

His grey eyes continued their ceaseless sweep of the city landscape, noticed crows circling over a roof a hundred metres north, two falcons fighting over territory a bit further off north-east, ripples in a puddle after a fox slunk by … Why people insisted on calling this the _Silent World_ would forever be a mystery to Lalli. It was full of sound and movement since animals had taken to the daylight to go about their business. As far as he could tell, the only patch of silence on this lively morning was were Emil was. It stood out like the aural equivalent of a missing limb, which was not good, but with Emil into the equation, a circle of relative silence was the best they would ever get.

 _The ripples had stopped, the falcons vanished. The crows still circled._ Lalli breathed out.

His gaze flickered over to where the tank was parked. Lalli could not see the vehicle itself, since it was a good four hundred metres away, but he could see the gap in the otherwise densely built-up neighbourhood. The small patch of open concrete littered with car wrecks was an abysmal place for camping and the night they had just spent there, in the open, next to the abandoned hospital, sitting there like a morsel of flesh amidst hungry trolls, had been the most tense they had had so far. Sigrun had even forbidden whispering during the night. They had sat together in the small bunk-room and every ping of the cooling engine had made them flinch. Outside, trolls and beasts were on the prowl, searching to find the trail of living flesh again, whilst inside Kitty was constantly growling and Reynir had been scrawling runes on every available surface.

Odense, it had to be said, had been a failure. It was Emil's task to prevent it becoming a death-trap.

Lalli looked back to the Cleanser – _nine sparrows sand-bathing on the roof opposite_ – and saw him laying out something nearly invisible and shortly thereafter attach it to the houses along the street in regular intervals. He was working fast and with a kind of concentration Lalli had seldom seen with him: it lacked fear and was all focus. Before, Emil had been all nervous chattering, assuring and reassuring himself that Lalli would keep an eye out for unwanted visitors while he rigged the buildings around the only free road which led to and from the hospital.

Lalli's eyes returned to the horizon and the listless sun crawling up it. Two thirds of their agreed hour was gone, he estimated and confirmed it with a look on his watch. Tuuri would start the engine in another twenty minutes.

He had asked Tuuri once why it was called the _Silent World_.

“Because the world used to be louder”, his cousin had said and counted on her fingers: aeroplanes and cars, radio and telephones. Everything was mechanic and there had been so much of it. He had pointed out then that, until you switched the radio on you couldn't hear it. Tuuri had given him The Look and he hadn't asked further.

Now, Lalli remembered the murmur he had been surrounded with after decontamination in Mora. Or on the train before that. Or on the ship even before that. He remembered how he felt when it was meal-times in Keuruu and most of the staff came for their break. The laughter, the talking, the scraping of feet, chair-legs and cutlery on china. The noises becoming mixed up and tangible, pressing in on him from all sides and scrambling up his thoughts until he felt as if ants were crawling around under his skin and he had better leave instantly or scream.

Taking a look over the dead city – _crows still circling but further off south, a clump of birches shivering as a deer passed through_ – Lalli imagined the noise of tens of thousands of people screaming in agony and fall silent. Compared to what that must have been the sunny November morning which surrounded him felt indeed like the silence of a graveyard.

Another thing made him think of graveyards …

'Oh, no …', he thought and grabbed his rifle more firmly.

Had it been Emil's movements in the street? Against every aspect of his training Lalli pushed himself to his feet and stood on the roof for all the world to see. His eyes were trained on Emil below who was still preparing the buildings and had yet to realize the change of situation. The scout strained his ears but could not hear the tell-tale screeching of trolls. Still the pricking feeling in the back of his brain and its cold fingers down his spine were enough to tell him that there was a troll nearby and it had spotted them.

Emil finally looked up at Lalli and the Finn saw him flinch violently when he found the scout standing erect with his rifle at the ready. The Swede's hand flew up to his own rifle in an instant before he hesitated and stood perfectly still for a moment.

Lalli could just envision it: Emil's breathing becoming ragged with rising panic as he tried to make out from which direction the threat came. But his stunted senses would tell him nothing, not if even Lalli himself was not sure from which direction the troll would come, and gradually Emil would come to the conclusion that he was defenceless, out in the open and easy prey for anything that tried to ambush him. Would he screw his eyes close? Would he try to suppress a whimper? Lalli had seen him do this. He sincerely hoped Emil would stay calm because if he panicked and left the open road there was nothing Lalli could do to aid him.

When Emil took his hand away from his rifle and returned to his work with speed, Lalli exhaled and allowed himself a short moment of pride for his friend and fellow soldier before he started to prowl along the edges of the roof and tried to pinpoint the direction from which he felt the troll. Was it one big thing? Was it several smaller ones and close-by? He couldn't tell but this meant also that the troll was not _very_ near, just near enough.

A look down showed Emil still at work, a look up revealed a swarm of crows taking off in the distance. The hour was up. Tuuri had started the tank and soon it would speed through this street, announcing to all and sundry that here was prey to be feasted on. Something like that would lure many many trolls out of their hiding places despite the frost and despite the weak sunlight. Winter was coming and the vermin of the world needed sustenance.

Lalli bend down and picked up one of the small stones which littered the roof and prepared to hurl it down to alert Emil to the approaching tank when the dreaded itching in the back of his brain became a full-body crawling along his skin. Lalli shot around to make clear that the troll hadn't snook up on him then turned back to … There it was.

The scout became perfectly still as he honed his senses in on the monster across the street from Emil's back. It seemed undecided whether to brave the sunlit open street to ambush his prey or if it should wait a while longer and hope for a cloud. It seemed to be perfectly unaware of the gray eyes trained on it. The scout's hand slowly pulled his rifle up to aim. Not a flinch, not even a tiny pressing of lips betrayed the assault on Lalli's senses as he considered the terrible choice he had to make – should he stand here, cock the rifle at this Hiisi-spawn and wait for it to make a move towards Emil who, Lalli could not believe it!, was oblivious to the hideous thing behind him. Or should he make a noise and avert the troll's attention from Emil and alert the Cleanser to the danger? But would Emil think about the first rule? Would he stay still and get on with his work and trust Lalli to handle the troll?

The decision was taken out of his hand as Emil stood up from the crouch he had been in and stretched himself. It seemed he had finished rigging the buildings. It also seemed that the troll had decided to pounce. In less than an instant Lalli had pulled the trigger and then secured the kill with a second shot through the head. Then he jumped down from the roof into the dark stairwell, ran down, down, down and arrived on the street before the corpse had stopped rolling but not soon enough for a chorus of screeching to erupt from the derelict house the troll had just come out of. Emil meanwhile had wrestled his gun from his back and shot a salve of bullets into the opposite building's plaster.

'How does he manage to do that?', Lalli hissed in his thoughts and hefted his gun again, firing two, three shots in rapid succession as new trolls lumbered out of the building. Out of the corner of his eyes Lalli saw the Swede drop his gun and reach for his dagger. A wise choice in his case even if it meant that he had to fight the grosslings up close. Another two, rather small, trolls bolted out into the street and were dispatched quickly before the two soldiers got a moment to breathe.

“Come!“, Lalli snapped and half ran, half skidded towards the ruin he had just recently vacated. He heard Emil crash through the door behind him and slam into the wall across from his own hiding place. Plaster trickled to the ground in the breath-holding silence they enveloped themselves in. Had they been fast enough to make the trolls forget what they saw? Lalli allowed himself a half-second of weakness and pressed the heel of his hand into his temple in the small hope that this would block out the buzzing behind it. But no such luck. There were too many grosslings awake now and even if the Hiisi-spawn was lying low right now the presence of their distorted minds was enough to drown out the real world around him.

“Tanken kommer”, Emil said quietly. Lalli's eyes snapped open. A furtive look out of the doorway did indeed show the squat form of their vehicle approaching from the other end of the street. Lalli realized with mild dismay that he had not heard it coming.

'Damn!', he thought and thought it again as the tank's vibrations startled and flushed out a new wave of trolls and beasts. Where were they all coming from?! It seemed just as if every grossling in Denmark had washed up in Odense. Tuuri seemed to pull everything possible out of the tank's engine and wove it wildly through the litter of aggressors, sometimes accidentally hitting them head-on so that Lalli suspected with grudging pride that she might actually trying to squash them. Compared to his trusted rifle the tank was a very slow method of fighting but an oh so lethal one. The tank had nearly reached the rigged part of the street, drawing in and behind it a wave of monsters from the hospital which was now getting bolstered up with this street's denizens.

Lalli flinched as Emil touched his arm and gestured to him to follow him out on the streets. It was nearly impossible to concentrate now but Lalli still made the effort to hone in on the task at hand and not just blindly stumble along behind Emil's broad back. But then … He whimpered. Not one of those, please! The unholy screeching in his head was shoved to the background as a _monta_ turned its slow and many minds to this street. Lalli felt himself stumble but thankfully the tank was there and he was pulled into the small, dark space and the door firmly slammed shut. Darkness. Steady rumbling from the engine. The smell of wood and disinfectant. Strange hands touched his own and pulled them up and over his ears. Then Emil turned away from him and shouted something through the closed door of the driver's cabin. The engine's whining got louder as Tuuri apparently tried to speed up more. With a reassuring smile at Lalli which did nothing to hide the excited spark in Emil's eyes, the Cleanser counted down and pressed the button on the remote control he held in his hands.

The sensation was … weightless. Then gravity kicked back in with full force as they were hit by the explosion's pressure and sound wave. Lalli screwed his eyes shut and his hands to his ears and nearly cried out when his pain threshold was still overshot but instantly it was gone again. All of it!!

He got up and walked into the small office, prying the small hatch open which closed the office-window and looked out. A great billowing cloud was all he could see behind them. And he could hear nothing at all. Lalli smiled. Odense was filled with the silence of a graveyard for real this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know now why I write mostly AU or settings which are far in the past or in the future: writing close to the actual canon makes it hard to ignore the fact that I might be totally wrong in describing sceneries or actions or anything, really.
> 
> monet = fin. "many"; not sure though if it's correct. I wanted a term that enclosed the multiple fused but still separate minds of a giant.


	13. 75 - Mirror

Prompt: 75 – **Mirror**

Summary: Being a twin is more than having a look-alike. It means an Other from whom one has to try to extract oneself.

Character: Mikkel Madsen

Setting: Mikkel's thoughts, Madsen Farm

Rating: none

Warnings: none

Tags: Mikkel's POV, snippets, flashbacks, sibling rivalry

 

~*~

 

All in all, he was not a resentful man, although he might have had reasons to be.

The odd thing about him was that those reasons were not what people in general expected them to be. _He_ was not what people in general expected him to be. Thank the non-existent Gods for small favors.

He had been born seven minutes after his brother.

But, in all honesty, how was it possible to declare that with any attempt at accuracy? A birth was a loud and messy and overall chaotic experience – surely no one had stood at the side-lines with a stop-watch? And what intervals should be measured anyway?

So, better change that to: He had been born a short while after his brother. This time span, however short or long it may have been, had forever determined the path of his life. Or better, denied him the path of his life. He was a younger child. The farm went to the eldest.

Michael would be the farmer. Mikkel could be anything else. And that was that taken care off.

Only, it wasn't. And therein lay one source of resentment: Mikkel had to choose.

The world was full of opportunities, he told himself, full of things he could do. Hundreds of jobs he could learn, dozens of places he could visit.

The world was measly and small, a mere smear of a corpse of what it once had been. It was full with farmers and soldiers and skalds – one of them the exact mirror of the other in their small-mindedness, their thoughts riveted around _survival_. Nothing new to see, nothing new to learn. No curiosity left in Humanity.

 

“Don't be so picky”, Michael said and continued to weave lengths of wire into each other. “A job is a job and Jensen pays well. Buuuut if that's not what you want there's always enough to do on the farm.”

Mikkel grunted and adjusted his grip on the plank.

“Hell, we can even do the thing we used to do when we were smaller! Pretending to be the other one?” Michael chuckled to himself. “We could take turns at being me and boss people around.” He renewed his grip on the callipers and twisted the last centimetres of wire tightly around the nails and into the soft wood. He sat back and Mikkel held the wooden frame up for inspection.

“That's really shoddy work”, Mikkel concluded. He shook the frame and listened to the rattling wire.

Michael shrugged. “It's good enough for chickens.”

Later, when they were done washing their hands and faces at the pump, Michael continued: “Have you given it a thought? I certainly wouldn't mind getting a chance to see other parts of the world. Once in a while.”

Mikkel took an extra second or two to towel off his face, looking at his twin over the decorative border stitching.

“Thank you for the offer”, he said at last, “but -”

“It's _no_ , isn't it?” Michael grinned wryly at him.

“Correct.”

 

Had his twin always been so easily pleased with the world? Had _he himself_ always found the world so _wanting_? And was this view a result of their order of birth – and hence their designated place in the grand scheme of things – or was it due to a difference in character?

 

When you are a part of a set of genetically identical humans sooner or later all your thoughts turn to _differences_. Mikkel resented that as well.

Oh, how they had smirked and giggled behind their hands as boys! How they delighted in their chance to level a kick at the multitude of rules which shaped their childhood: Do not go to the beach, do not steal the jam, do not chase the chickens, do not question your elders. Do not, do not, do not … If you are one part of a set they can never catch you out on anything. They can never put the finger to you and say: “He did it.”

They will, however, stop treating you as an individual.

 

“What was your name again, young man?”

“Mikkel.”

“I thought you were the other one.”

 

“And are you looking forward to take over the farm when you're grown up?”

“That's Michael. I'm Mikkel.”

“Ah, the other one!”

 

“I have some questions about your order for barley, earlier this week.”

“I didn't order anything.”

“Then it was the other one.”

 

“I heard you're a great kisser …”

“I'm capable but I am also a superior conversationalist.”

“So ... You're the other one?”

 

The other one.

Might as well put it in capital letters already.

The Sarcastic One, the Sullen One, the Too-Clever-by-Half One – _the Other One_.

Nothing stuck: no difference in demeanor, no difference in style – he was Michael's twin and everything he did only cemented the place he occupied in people's minds.

He was not Michael's echo anymore, but his opposite.

As early as he left his parents' farm, it felt still too late. And where could he turn his steps to break out of the mold? Nowhere on Bornholm, as he found out.

Neither Öresund.

Nor Mora, Luleå or Aurland.

No one was prepared to put up with the insolence Mikkel had cultivated as much as a means of individuality than as a device of coping with the drab existence that was village-life on Bornholm.

He found adventure now, lived through danger and saw the different aspects of the world but the people he met firmly remained inside the mental borders a society orbiting around survival and authority had instilled in them.

They tolerated him as long as they needed him and then sent him away.

 

“Have you finished the new chicken coop?”, Freja Madsen asked her sons as she navigated sideways out of the door into the yard with a full basket of freshly laundered clothes in her hands. The day was sunny and a calm wind blew from the east – ideal laundry weather.

“Of course we have, Mother”, Michael said with a laugh in his voice while Mikkel folded the towel and laid it on its place next to the pump.

“Then put Hilda and Berta and their chicks in there. I don't want the young cocks having a go at them – it's bad enough that a fox got into the hen-house last week.”

“Will do!” Thrusting his hands deep into his jacket-pockets Michael Madsen stomped happily out of sight, not bothering to tell their mother that they had moved said hens already.

“And you Mikkel, help me with the laundry, will you?”

Stoically he accepted the heavy basket of moist linnen and followed Freja to the clothes lines.

Swallows flitted across the sky and fat flies buzzed lazily around his ears. Their farm was busy, his siblings wreaking havoc somewhere in the neighbourhood.

Every time he came home Mikkel imagined that this time he might find peace and solace here. But already the noise of family life grew too loud and the smell of Freja's geraniums became too cloying. A thin smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered Trond Andersen's letter from earlier this summer.

It was time to leave again.

 

Mikkel did not resent that the Known World had no place for him. He would try his luck with the Silent one.

 

 


	14. 27 - Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate his relationship with Lalli Sigrun asks Emil some personal questions, because teasing Emil never gets old and teasing him when he is squirmig so prettily is even better!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out to Aliax and Urania_baba! You evil enablers, you!

Title: Five Times Sigrun asked Emil how sex with Lalli is, and one time she got an answer

Prompt: 27 – **Friendship**

Characters: Sigrun Eide, Emil Västerström, the rest of the Crew

Relationships: Sigrun Eide & Emil Västerström, Emil Västerström/Lalli Hotakainen

Rating: Teen

Warnings: colourful language, talking about off-screen sexual relationship, talking about sexual practices

Additional tags: nosy!Sigrun, embarrassed!Emil, deadpan!Lalli, deaderpan!Mikkel, humour

 

~*~

 

The sun had barely crawled over the horizon and a thick blanket of hoar-frost covered everything around them. Midwinter had passed somewhere last week, but with a flock of murderghosts on their trail and a sick driver (though on the mend, thank the Gods for that), they had been a tad preoccupied. Too preoccupied for Sigrun to notice that her Cleanser and her Scout had finally started to act on the puppy-love they had developed during the mission.

“Whoa! What's that, Emil?”

She was at his side with one stride of her long legs and unceremoniously pulled the turtle-neck of his thermal away from his throat.

“Gerroff!”, he yelped and tried to swap her hand away but Sigrun had let go of her own to have a good laugh.

“So you two finally hooked up, ey? Well done!”

“About time”, said Mikkel gruffly as he handed Emil his portion of breakfast. “Your mutual pining was losing it's entertainment value.”

Emil looked as if he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. He played over his embarrassment instead by taking a huge spoonful of the breakfast-slop.

Sigrun nudged his side. “So, how is the sex?”

It was just as well that Mikkel actually knew how to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre.

*

“Is he a quiet or a loud one?”

They stood side by side, their backs pressed against a mouldy drywall. Flakes of paint rippled to the ground with every movement.

“C'mon, you can tell me.”

Emil's eyes left the back of Lalli's head to flit over to his Captain and her leering grin.

“That's really none of your concern”, he whispered under his breath.

The loud wheezing noises coming from the next room stopped suddenly and Emil's over-active imagination showed him a hideous body dragging itself around in an attempt to locate their whispers. He screwed his eyes shut.

After another two seconds the wheezing resumed and the creature seemed to turn away.

“If I die here today I will never know – you wouldn't want that on your conscience, ey?”

“Sigrun! First Rule!”, Emil bit out through clenched teeth.

Sigrun's suppressed snort made Lalli turn around and fix them both with an accusing glare before he turned back around and carefully pulled his knife out.

“It's a tiny teensy troll, Emil, and there's three of us.”

The Captain suddenly had her short-sword in hand – pushed herself from the wall – flew through the open doorway next to Lalli – hurled herself into the derelict ballroom beyond. Lalli jumped after her, with Emil making up the screaming rear.

There was more than one troll.

But afterwards there were still three of them.

*

“Look at those scratches!”

“Hand me the disinfectant, please, Sigrun.”

“You sure they're from the troll? They look older to me.”

Emil felt himself burn up with embarrassment. His ears, he was every bet willing to take, were certainly glowing red like the Tank's rear lights.

“Look here, these ones are already scabbed.”

“Keep your fingers away from the sanitized parts, Sigrun.”

“Yes, Sigrun”, Emil whined, “do what the Medic says.” And _please_ stop poking your extraordinarily pointy nose into my private affairs, he added in the privacy of his head.

He startled when the Captain suddenly crouched down in front of him, her insinuating grin still firmly in place. Emil wondered if she would ever look at him in a different way again.

“So, our Scout's a real wildcat, ey?”

Emil's groan was loud enough to make Lalli poke his head out of the Tank's side-door.

“Help me!”, Emil called to him and was relieved when his boyfriend actually sauntered over. His large grey eyes gave Emil a quick all over glance to make sure he was all right before they settled on the scratches along Emil's back. A very satisfied smirk spread slowly over Lalli's face.

“Traitor”, Emil mumbled to the sound of Sigrun's guffaws.

*

Emil had just finished re-assembling his gun when the whispers started and which then grew rapidly into excited squeals and muffled giggles. He busied himself with wiping the barrel down one last time before stashing his equipment away. When Sigrun's laughter chimed in, though, he could not refrain from looking up.

She was standing next to Mikkel's cooking pot, one arm in a sling, the other gesticulating wildly, while next to her Reynir and Tuuri … did whatever civilians did when they didn't drive tanks or transcribed books and made a hairy nuisance of themselves.

Emil's eyes narrowed when he saw that Reynir was indeed tending to the breakfast pot and made a mental note to sieve through his porridge before eating it. His eyes narrowed even further when he saw Sigrun gesticulate into his general direction and nodding enthusiastically when Tuuri appeared to be surprised by what Sigrun was saying.

Okay, he couldn't stand not knowing any longer – even more so since he already could guess what Sigrun was talking about to Lalli's cousin – so he stood up and sauntered over to the others under the pretence of checking for breakfast. His suspicion mounted and peaked into certainty when he stepped up to the pot and suddenly found Tuuri hugging him.

“Wha –“

“Oh, Emil! I'm so glad! I was getting afraid that Lalli might never find a special someone – he is so peculiar! – and yet, here you are! Sigrun told me all about you!” She pushed herself away and looked up at him with teary eyes. “Welcome to the family!”, she gushed and let go of him at last. Emil's countenance had been severely shaken by the hug but fell now into serious danger of shattering when Reynir stepped up with a nervous smile and patted him gingerly on the shoulder.

“S–sigrun”, Emil stuttered and felt all colour drain from his face. Just how much had she told them? “Could I speak to you for a minute? O–over there?”

As they stepped away Emil clenched his shaking hands into fists and was pulled back and forth between the wish to shovel a deep hole and vanish in it forever or to strangle Sigrun (the latter a death-wish in disguise while the former – theoretically – included the option of climbing out the hole again).

“ _What did you tell them?!_ ”, he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Nothing much”, Sigrun answered. “Just told the Crew to walk carefully around corners, unless they want to bump into two love-birds making out behind the Tank.” She actually winked at him. “Or interrupting you when giving Lalli a deluxe decon-bath …”

“Wha –?”

“C'mon, Emil! You don't want to tell me that you haven't _lent Lalli a hand_ during decon? What kind of boyfriend are you?”, Sigrun teased. “Aaaand, speaking of the devil …”, she said gleefully as Lalli stepped onto the clearing, covered in mud from head to foot. “Looks like Lalli needs _special care_ today, ey?”

Emil snapped.

“I'm a man of dignity!”, he hissed with all the hauteur he could muster and stormed into the tank to gather their toiletries. He stuck his head back out of the door. “And _Decency_! ”

 

“Do you have a spouse or a partner, Sigrun?”, Mikkel asked her a minute later when she had returned to the camp-fire.

“Nah.”

“I wonder why.”

*

Emil stood at the edge of the crowd and clutched a glass of elderberry flower wine. Once in a while he lifted it to his lips to take a minuscule sip from it but after nearly half an hour in his hand the wine was lukewarm and horrible. He looked down in pretend bashfulness as yet another pair of congratulators made their way towards him to exchange a bit of small-talk and a limp handshake.

He made himself smile at their words and wished them far away – or better, _himself_ far away from all this.

This was so stupid. This room was stupid, the food was stupid, the drinks were even stupider, this whole celebration of their return was stupid. And he _himself_ was stupid for not relishing this evening. Everything he had ever wanted was here, his for the taking!

Yet the stupidest thing of all was that he couldn't just abscond with Lalli to a quiet and snug evening in their shared hotel room.

He was just about to man up and swallow the warm piss his wine had become in one gulp and search for something better when Sigrun materialized next to him like a nightmare and threw an arm around his shoulders. It might have been that she wanted to show him a sign of camaraderie, it might also have been that she needed someone to support her.

“I'm not talking to you”, Emil said out of the corner of his mouth. “You'll only ask personal questions again.”

“Ye're talking to me right now”, Sigrun pointed out with a slur in her voice. She waved a passing waiter over to them and picked a small bottle of clear liquid from between the various drinks on his tray. “An' what kind of pers'nal questions would I ask, I ask yer?”

“ _Excuse me?_ What kind of personal questions did you _not_ ask ever since I got together with Lalli?!”

“I didn't ask if yer plan to stay together, or to move in to .. _with_ each other or if ya wanna have kids …”

“What?!” Against his best efforts Emil could not stop himself blurting this out.

“See? 'm not asking personal questions.” Sigrun shook the bottle which was already empty. “I'm only asking if sexing up Twig is fun 'n' if he's making your man-parts all tingly and warm …”

“Oh dear gods!”, Emil wailed. “Please stop talking Sigrun! You're drunk.”

Before Sigrun could answer, a heavy hand clamped down onto Emil's shoulder, turning him around and at the same time neatly dislodging his Captain from the other shoulder.

Emil was staring into the red-rimmed eyes of a stout man, a few years his senior, and something about the figure felt familiar to him. Maybe the eyes which had the same blue-greyish colour as Lalli's, or the cheekbones which looked almost razor-sharp. Emil recognized, however, when the other man spat some Finnish at him.

“I'm going to murder you in your sleep if you hurt Lalli. I will use your entrails as laces and your skin to cover my drum”, came Sigrun's whisper from behind.

“Since when do you speak Finnish?”, Emil asked aghast and not in the least reassured by the continued snarling the other man was doing. He had been drinking a lot, Emil surmised, from the way that he needed the grip on Emil's collar as much to stay upright as keeping Emil in spitting range.

“I don't. But I can read basic body language.” She pushed herself up and away from Emil and inserted herself between her Cleanser and the angry Finnish drunk. “Now, listen to me, pal …”, she started but a flying fist grazed her chin and threw her backwards against Emil, who instinctively caught her.

“Right”, she snarled and balled her fists. “You're going to regret this.”

They doused the fires with beer.

*

The second groan in under a minute made Emil crack open one sticky eye. He took a moment to focus on the occupant of the seat opposite. Sigrun stared back at him, chipper and cheerful as the fresh morning. Then his gaze travelled right to the lump of human misery in the seat next to her.

“Why is he with us?”, Emil whined.

“And a jolly good morning to you too, soldier!”, Sigrun greeted him with a volume that drilled rusty nails through Emil's head – and through Onni's as well as it seemed. The Finn half-roused himself from his seat, cast one look through the carriage's window to the rolling Icelandic scenery outside and dived for said window retching.

 

Five minutes later they had made themselves comfortable on the roof of the carriage, huddled deep into the spare blankets every coach-driver had with him in case of bad weather on the road, and looked at the vista. Twenty metres ahead the other carriage was bouncing along the road with Mikkel, Tuuri, Reynir and Lalli inside.

Emil's stomach lurched pleasantly when a stick-thin figure poked its silver-blond head poked out of a window and gave a small wave.

Sigrun next to him shifted and pulled the blanked tighter around her. “So”, she started. “Are Lalli and you –“

“Really, Sigrun? _Again??_ ”, Emil snapped. “I hoped the topic was over but if you _insist_ – Yes! Sex with Lalli is awesome! We can barely keep our hands to ourselves. He can be surprisingly loud for someone that quiet, and surprisingly clingy for someone who loathes body contact. Last time we slept together his legs gripped me so hard I might get actual bruises on my actual hips. Oh, and he gave me those scratches and lots of hickeys _and I_ have been giving him deluxe decon-baths ever since you mentioned that to me – so thanks for that! – and as soon as we stop for more than five minutes we'll elope into the hills to have some more! _Are you satisfied now?_ ”

Emil snapped his jaw shut when his rant ended and stared straight ahead, trying desperately to ignore the heat that crept up his throat towards his ears. Let her make of these information what she wanted – he was out of it!

A hearty laugh from Sigrun let him whip his head around.

“Awesomesauce!”, she exclaimed and caught his shoulders in an one-armed hug. “I'm so glad for you both.”

Emil felt as if a giant had punched him in the stomach. “That's all?!”, he squeaked. “All those weeks of teasing me and all I get is an awesomesauce!?”

This time Sigrun practically howled with laughter. “What did you expect?”, she wheezed. “ _Practical advice?_ ”

Instead of an answer Emil only groaned and pulled his blanket over his head, wishing he could vanish from the world until his mortification ended or he died – whichever came first.

“Now that I think of it, I had two comrades in my first unit who –“

“Sigrun!”

She laughed again, less rowdy this time, and reached over to ruffle through Emil's already dishevelled hair. “Having fun in a relationship is important. It is also important not to be ashamed”, she said calmly. “And that is all the advice you'll get from me.”

Emil felt like a tit. A stupid, immature, insecure idiot. “Thanks”, he mumbled and smoothed down his hair.

“What I was really going to ask, Emil – before you interrupted me – is if you will come to work with my unit in Norway. Lalli already said yes and I could do with a good Scout _and_ a promising Cleanser.”

A tiny part of Emil's brain noticed the “promising” in comparison to the “good”, but he was too preoccupied with the cloud of happiness that exploded in his stomach and chest and made breathing so much more difficult. He was too happy to answer. So he slung his arms around his knees, buried his face into the fabric and grinned from one ear to the other as he watched the dreaded mental image of his impending separation with Lalli disappear.

“I would love to”, he said when he could breathe, certain to his soles that Sigrun had already known his answer.

As he stared happily ahead, he spotted Lalli's small form look out the window and wave again. He pulled his arm free of his blanket and blew him a kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Sigrun's behaviour here can be seen as very invading and limit-crossing, but I tried to convey that she never intended to hurt Emil or make fun of him.  
> And I might have been that kind of friend on some occasions in the past - so I know what I'm talking about. ^^;


	15. 49 - Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil hat sich lange genug vor Verantwortung gedrückt. Jetzt gibt es keine Ausreden mehr, findet Sigrun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first german fic I wrote for years and it shows, I think. But I am still in a place where I seem unable to write next-to-nothing in english so getting back to my native tongue was the only option. So bear with me for this chapter and for the foreseeable future. I might take my german stories out of this and put them separately if they become too many but for now I rather have all stories for the prompt-challenge in one place.
> 
> For you german-learners: Feel free to ask for specific phrases or words. I slurred some words in the personal speech and used some slang-terms, so it might be that neither your dictionary nor google translate will catch those. =)

Prompt: 49 - **Stripes/Streifen  
** Zusammenfassung: Emil hat sich lange genug vor Verantwortung gedrückt. Jetzt gibt es keine Ausreden mehr, findet Sigrun.  
Charaktere: Sigrun Eide, Emil Västerström  
Setting: ein Büro, eine windige Plattform, einige Jahre nach dem Ende der Mission  
Freigabe: für alle geeignet  
Warnungen: Meine erste deutsche Fic seit Jahren. Ich hoffe, Grammatik und Wortwahl sind nicht zu seltsam. Meine Leutchen reden sich mal wieder in Situationen hinein und wieder heraus. Mikroskopische Handlung.  
Tags: Charakterisierung, Freundschaft, Dialoge

~*~

Emil hätte den Braten eigentlich in dem Moment riechen müssen, als er Sigrun Eide hinter einem Schreibtisch sitzen sah.

Admiral Sigrun „Und-dann-habe-ich-die-Trolle-mit-einem-Holzlöffel-zerfleischt“ Eide, die sich einmal einen verletzten Kameraden um die Schultern geschnallt und durch Schneeregen und Blitzeis zurück zum Basislager getragen hatte.

Sigrun Eide, für die, hätte es sie noch nicht gegeben, die Worte „Naturbursche“, „Haudrauf“ und „Säbelrassler“ extra hätten erfunden werden müssen.

Sigrun Eide, die einmal einen Beamten der norwegischen Armee an einen Stuhl gefesselt und mit Papierschnitten traktiert hatte, bis er einsah, dass doppelte Durchschriften für alle Kommandooffiziere Vorschrift sein mögen, aber nicht wenn sie Sigrun Eide hießen.

So munkelte man jedenfalls.

Ja, Emil war sich sicher, dass er bei dem Anblick Sigrun Eides in einem Büro und hinter einem Schreibtisch sitzend, auf dem Absatz kehrtmachen und das Weite hätte suchen sollen. Aber die Freude, seinen ersten richtigen Kapitän wiederzusehen, dämpfte seinen Sinn für Gefahr und so grinste er nur breit als Sigrun ihre Füße vom Schreibtisch riss, ihr Messer zur Seite warf und aufsprang, um ihn gebührend zu begrüßen.

„Emil, mein Goldjunge!“, rief sie und zerzauste seine Haare mit einer besonders liebevollen Kopfnuss. „Wurde mal Zeit, dass du dich hier blicken lässt!“

Die Stimmung schlug allerdings schnell um.

„Was soll das heißen: Nein, danke?!“

Emil wich in seinem Stuhl unwillkürlich ein paar Zentimeter zurück. „Äh …“, begann er, aber Sigrun unterbrach ihn sofort wieder.

„Abgelehnt! Du nimmst die Beförderung an und damit basta.“

Emil schnellte nach vorn. „Nein!“

„Lass den Unsinn!“ Sigrun stützte sich mit den Fäusten auf den Schreibtisch. Ihr Gesicht war weniger als eine Armlänge von ihm entfernt und Emil kämpfte den Impuls nieder, in die Stuhllehne zu kriechen, aber er schluckte nur trocken und wiederholte den Grund für seine Ablehnung.

„Ich bin nicht zum Kommandooffizier gemacht.“ Er hatte es endlich akzeptiert. Er würde doch nur neue Fehler machen, seine Fähigkeiten überschätzen und andere schädigen. „Du kannst mich nicht zwingen, anzunehmen“, sagte er leise, aber entschlossen.

Er brachte es nicht über sich, die Augen zu heben und die Enttäuschung in Sigruns Gesicht zu sehen. Jeden Moment würde sie aufstehen, um den Tisch herum gehen und das Zimmer wütend verlassen. _Dieses Mal_ war er sich sicher, dass sie ihn abschreiben und zurücklassen würde.

„Okay“, sagte Sigrun mit einem Ton eisiger Entschlossenheit in ihrer Stimme. „Du wirst dieses Büro erst verlassen, wenn du den Befehl unterschrieben hast.“

„Was?!“

„Du hast mich schon richtig verstanden“, sagte Sigrun als sie aufstand und die Knöchel knacken ließ. „Ich lass' dich erst hier raus, wenn du aufhörst, Blödsinn zu reden.“

Ein kurzes, aber nichtsdestotrotz heftiges, Handgemenge später, saß Sigrun wieder – diesmal jedoch auf der anderen Seite des Schreibtischs. Emil fühlte sie nach oben langen und hörte sie nach der Beförderungsurkunde und einem Stift fischen. Beides knallte sie auf den Boden vor seinem Gesicht.

„Unterschreibst du jetzt?“

„Nein“, sagte er dumpf in den Teppich hinein.

Sigrun rutschte auf ihrem improvisierten Sitz hin und her. Emil unterdrückte ein Stöhnen.

„Du wirst nie verhindern können, dass Unfälle passieren“, sagte sie ruhig und sachlich.

„Ich kann verhindern, dass sie unter meinem Kommando passieren“, antwortete er bockig.

„Indem du dich für immer zurückhältst?“

Emil fühlte wie seine Scham sich heiß und ätzend in seinen Magen mit Wut vermengte.

Wie konnte Sigrun so etwas tun? Sie, als allererste, hatte doch gesehen, dass er furchtbare Fehler machen konnte! All die Momente, in denen er blind losgestürmt war, entweder aus Angst zurückzubleiben oder aus dem Versuch heraus, sein Ansehen zu wahren; all die Einsätze, in denen sein Finger schneller am Abzug oder an den Granaten gewesen war, als sein Verstand die Situation begreifen konnte … Wie konnte Sigrun ihn zwingen wollen, Verantwortung für das Leben anderer Menschen in seine Hand zu nehmen?

Besser, er blieb in der zweiten Reihe hinter den Naturtalenten und ließ sich leiten.

„Geht es immer noch um den Einsatz in Rana?“, fragte Sigrun nach einer Weile.

„… unter anderem“, gab Emil schließlich zu.

„Es grenzt an ein Wunder, dass überhaupt jemand lebend da rausgekommen ist“, sagte sie. „Unwegsames Gelände, der Kapitän getötet durch einen Blindgänger, die Mannschaft Grünschnäbel und undisziplinierte Besserwiss –„

„ _Ich weiß!“_ , unterbrach Emil sie. „Das hast du mir schon hundert Mal gesagt! Es ändert aber nichts daran, dass eine Menge Leute gestorben sind, die nicht hätten sterben müssen!“

„Weil sie dich ignoriert haben.“

Sigrun hatte kurz geschwiegen, bevor sie sprach und jetzt, als die Erinnerung an die Befehlsverweigerung im Raum stand, wurde die Stille noch drückender.

„Eben“, sagte Emil leise und wünschte sich, im Boden zu versinken. Als es offensichtlich wurde, dass Sigrun die Sache nicht auf sich beruhen lassen würde, setzt er hinzu: „Ich kann's einfach nicht, okay? Ich bin nicht wie du; ich kann Leute nicht einfach mitreißen und von mir überzeugen!“

„Natürlich nicht!“, blaffte Sigrun von oben herab. Emil verzog das Gesicht als er seine innersten Ängste so offen bestätigt hörte. „Du bist nicht ich!“ Sigrun redete weiter und sie schien am Ende ihres Geduldsfadens angekommen zu sein. „Du bist du und hast deine eigenen Methoden, deinen eigenen Weg. Nein!“, fuhr sie scharf dazwischen als Emil Luft holte, um ihr zu widersprechen. „Jetzt rede ich. Du wirst nie kopfüber mitten ins Getümmel springen, du wirst nie freiwillig in der ersten Reihe stehen und drauf brennen, den ersten Troll vor die Flinte zu kriegen. Wenn du versuchst, den Helden zu markieren, sieht man dir an, dass du dir vor Angst in die --“

„ _Das reicht!“_ , bellte Emil. Bittere Galle brannte in seiner Kehle und nur das Wissen, dass jedes Wort von Sigrun wahr war hielt ihn an Ort und Stelle. Vor der Wahrheit konnte man nicht davonlaufen – wenigstens _das_ hatte er gelernt.

„Siehst du?“, sagte Sigrun mit Triumph in der Stimme. „Ich an deiner Stelle würde mich jetzt durch den Raum prügeln, andere würden heulend oder wutschnaubend das Weite suchen. Du“, sie stach ihm ihren Zeigefinger zwischen die Schulterblätter, „bist hier. Sicherlich nicht sonderlich glücklich grade, aber immer noch da, um dich dem Problem zu stellen. _Das_ bist du.“

Emil lag einen Moment still bevor er seinen Kopf in den Teppich drehte und die Augen schloss. Er hatte keine Kraft mehr, Sigrun Widerstand zu leisten, aber ein kleiner Funken Bissigkeit glomm noch in ihm.

„Sei dir selbst treu und mach die Dinge so gut du kannst? Ist _das_ wirklich der Rat, den du mir gibst?“

Wie immer perlte Sarkasmus an Sigrun ab wie Gurkenwasser an einer Schmalzstulle. „Erstaunlich wenig Leute halten sich dran.“

Emil grinste – noch immer ein wenig bitter – und schnaubte in den Teppich. „Ja.“

Sigrun langte nach vorn, hob den Bleistift vom Boden auf und drückte ihn in Emils Hand. „Nimmst du an?“, fragte sie knapp.

Emil überlegte. „Auf Probe“, sagte er schließlich.

„Auf Probe“, bestätigte sie.

 

Die Uniformjacke war noch steif und roch nach Bleiche und Waschmittel und ganz leicht nach Maschinenöl. Emil ließ seinen Arm fallen und zog die Schultern hoch und ließ sie einmal probeweise kreisen, wie um sich die Jacke einzufühlen. Dann fielen seine Schultern wieder nach unten und zusammen mit einem Stoßseufzer sackte sein Oberkörper nach vorn und kam seine Stirn an der Metalltüre des Aufzugs zu ruhen. Er schloss kurz die Augen, nahm den Knoten aus Aufregung und Angst in seinem Magen zur Kenntnis, bevor er sich wieder aufrichtete.

Der Fahrstuhl kam zum Halt. Die Tür glitt auf.

Der Himmel war noch genauso graubewölkt wie er ein paar Stunden zuvor gewesen war, aber nach dem Dämmerlicht im Fahrstuhl war selbst dies genug, um Emil kurz die Augen zusammenkneifen zu lassen. Auf der Plattform zwanzig Meter vor ihm wartete seine Mannschaft inmitten eines Haufens aus Rucksäcken, Munitionskisten und Gasflaschen. Ein paar Soldaten bemerkten ihn als er auf die Gruppe zuschritt und stießen den Rest zu einem halbherzigen Appell an, als sie seine Rangabzeichen erkannten.

Emil kam vor ihnen zum Stehen. „Zuallererst: Kapitän Nilson ist auf dem Weg der Besserung und wird das Lazarett in ein paar Tagen verlassen, um ihre Physiotherapie zu beginnen.“ Er sah wie ein Großteil der Anspannung aus der Haltung und den Gesichtern der Soldaten verschwand. Ein oder zwei lächelten sogar erleichtert.

„Mein Name ist Emil Västerström“, fuhr er fort. „Ich werde Kapitän Nilson vertreten.“ Ein paar Leute runzelten die Augenbrauen in mildem Protest aber der große Rest nahm die Eröffnung stoisch hin. „Ich weiß, dass es schwer ist, mitten in der Saison einen neuen Kommandanten zu bekommen, aber wir schaffen das schon.“

Es war keine Flucht nach vorn, sondern, Mission für Mission, Fortschritt.

 


	16. 5 - Seeking Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the world is ending, there is no easy way to go. One can only try to make the passing less painful with every solace at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. This is my darkest fic yet and I mean it. This thing is riddled with triggers and **I heavily advice anyone susceptible to suicidal thoughts to leave instantly.** Are we clear on that?!
> 
> This fic is also part of the ongoing Synchronised Screaming challenge over at tumblr. The prompt there was: Any SSSS - The cherry trees bend over and are shedding, / On the old road where all that passed are dead

Prompt: 5 – **Seeking Solace**

Warnings: euthanasia, off-screen suicide, death of a child, very strong and positive images about A World Without Me In It

Summary: When the world is ending, there is no easy way to go. One can only try to make the passing less painful with every solace at hand.

Character: unnamed original characters

Setting: Year 0, somewhere in the soon-to-be Silent World

Rating: Adult

~*~

The sun has long crept beneath the horizon and only the dim light of a candle stub is fighting the encroaching darkness in the room. Rasping intakes of breath are there as well, ebbing and flowing, never ceasing but sounding so laboriously that any unseen listener might feel a tightness in their chest and find themselves gasping for air through their constricting wind-pipes.

As weak as the light is it peels the cover of darkness from a few things in the room: the table upon which the candle stands next to a dish of bright red berries, a bed next to it, two persons – one tall, one small; one sitting, one lying; one adult, one child.

The death-rattle quickens and shallows, cumulating in a soft mewling „Mom?“

„I'm here.“

„Where?“

„Here.“

The woman leans down, nearly lays down next to her dying child. Her hands cup its face, covering up ugly sores. The pants hitch into a slow whine of pain but a tension goes out of the patient.

„How long?“, it asks.

„Not long“, she answers. And: „I am here. I'm here with you.“

„It hurts.“

A shudder runs through her body, a convulsion speaking of dry sobs and misery, but her hands never shake on her child's skin.

„The darkest hour comes before dawn“, she whispers. „It will be over soon.“

„And then?“

She bares her teeth against the truth, against the lie. Her lids flicker over dead eyes.

„Nothing“, she says. „It'll end and there will be nothing. No pain, no memories, not even emptiness.“

„ … how …?“

Her brows knit in confusion. How … will it end? does she know? is it possible? Her gaze leaves the face of her child for the first time in minutes and settles on the table. The labouring gasps and the brightness of blood are the only things in her world.

„I don't know what comes beyond“, she says. „Maybe a garden, or a judgement, or nothing.“ Her mind reels whenever she tries to depict what lies in store for her a few hours hence.

Fine tremors run through the frail, rash-stricken body under her and call her back.

„I do know what will happen here“, she says quickly.

Keep making noises, distract by any means possible!

Talk her child to sleep.

„Winter will come with frost, and snow will cover up everything. No movement anywhere. No cars, no air planes, just the thick silence of winter and the cawing of crows. Spring will then come with raging storms and rain and later with sunshine and the world will thaw again –„

„Imagine … the stench …“

She nearly smiles. Her child has such a vivid and detail-loving mind.

„Yes, it'll stink, but bacteria and bugs will have a _really_ good year. Later, in summer, most of it will be gone, though, eaten up, sunk into the ground, dried out by heat and wind and weather. The grass on our lawn will have grown unchecked, ankle-high at first, later up to your hips. A moving, waving sea –„

„… beck'ning you … jump in …“

The smile is still on the corner of her mouth but layered with tears. „Yes, beckoning me to jump in like when I was a kid and lie down between the stalks and look up at the endless blue sky trough a curtain of pale yellow. But I'm not there. Birds will nest in the grass, bees will swarm around, collecting pollen, red and white and blue flowers will bloom which haven't been seen for years – all undisturbed and growing stronger again. _Healing_.“ Our death is all about healing. „Fall will come, and Winter again, and the next Spring and Summer – a circle forever unperturbed by this – but the trees will grow larger again, and wider, and more varied. The ivy in our front yard will become a blanket for this house, closing up windows and doors, making every room a still, dark green and hidden cave.“

„…“

She has her eyes trained on her child's anguished face. Her hands slide lower, rest over the throat. The racing heartbeat from an hour ago has slowed down to a sluggish crawl.

„Where our compost heap once was are cherry trees now, grown from the pits we dumped there last Summer. The boughs are long and laden with blossoms, shedding white petals with every breeze. The only reminder that we once lived.“

She falls silent and listens for a breath that will not come. Will never come again. For a moment her unchecked sobs try to fill the emptiness of the room, the house, the world, but soon after they are gone.

As are the berries.

 


	17. 88 - Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Emil needs to go through painful treatment without something to ease his pain, Lalli knows only one way to distract him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional prompts from Synchronized Screaming: Mikkel Madsen, Lalli Hotakainen, Maybe you could distract him?, difficult decisions, pain, night

Prompts: Mikkel Madsen, Lalli Hotakainen, Maybe you could distract him?, difficult decisions, pain, night; additional: 88 – **Pain**

Characters: Lalli Hotakainen, Mikkel Madsen, Emil Västerström

Relationships: Emil Västerström/Lalli Hotakainen

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mild depictions of an infected wound, character in pain

Additional tags: hurt/comfort, reciprocity

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Lalli had been outside his body still, when Emil suddenly swerved sideways on the road and stumbled. He had seen and felt the flash of pain, but when he had asked that night, Emil had said it was nothing.

Emil had still claimed it was nothing when Lalli came back to himself the next day, and stuck to that story along all the kilometres they dragged themselves towards the meeting point.

Tired. Hungry. Weak.

They both had barely been able to set one foot in front of the other. What reason had Lalli to suspect Emil was lying?

*

 

Neither Mikkel's words nor Mikkel's voice manage to pierce the veil of anguish that wraps itself around Lalli when the big Dane uncovers the leg of a feverish Emil. “This is bad”, he says in a rare moment of stating the obvious. “There might be some bigger particles still in the wound.”

Yellow. Oozing. Shiny. Smelling bad.

Lalli hears Sigrun curse somewhere off to his side, and the Icelander gag, but he is focussed on Mikkel's hands and Emil's half-here-half-there look as he watches Mikkel cut away the soiled cloth of his trousers.

“We have anti-septics”, he rumbles. “But no painkillers.”

It takes Lalli some time to understand: Mikkel needs to clean the wound, before stitching and dressing it. Emil will have to bear it without relief.

It takes Lalli even more time to understand the hidden words Mikkel says to him when the Dane looks him straight in the eye.

_Distract him._

The solution to that presents itself so readily to Lalli. Yet, he hesitates. It is a thing between Emil and him. Private. Not yet fully fledged. And for no-one's scrutiny. And he doesn't want Emil's memory of _it_ to be fouled with pain and terror. His decision is made however, as soon as Mikkel fixates Emil's legs and tells Sigrun to hold him down. Climbing up on the table, glaring at the others as he does so, Lalli wedges his legs under Emil's shoulders, nestling his wide-eyed head into his lap.

He kisses him, once.

As Mikkel starts to work, Lalli wraps himself around Emil. Holds him close in the same way Emil's mind had wound itself around Lalli's soul, when he was cast out into the Dream-Sea's dreadful night.

He leans over him, whispers Finnish into Swedish ears, as Emil screams his pain into Lalli's stomach.

 

 


End file.
